


Shard Society

by misCOWculation



Series: Shard Society [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Aftermath, Aftermath of a Case, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Yagami Light Is Not Kira (Death Note), Anger, Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Arguing, Background Case, Background Femslash, Background Het, Background Relationships, Behind the Scenes, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Boyfriends, Broken Families, Bullying, Burglary, Cameos, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Case Fic, Catharsis, Catharsis Ending, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Closure, Complete, Corruption, Courtroom Drama, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Death, Death Note References, Desperation, Detectives, Disturbing Themes, Divorce, Doctors & Physicians, Don't Let The Tags Scare You, Drama, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everything Hurts, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Feels, Fights, Fist Fights, Flashbacks, Forensics, Frustration, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grooming, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Harassment, Head Injury, Heart Attacks, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hostage Situations, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Imprisonment, Injury, Injury Recovery, Internet, Intrigue, Investigations, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Angst, Justice, Law Enforcement, Law School, Lawyers, Legal Drama, Lies, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Male Protagonist, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Model Tsukishima Kei, Mostly Gen, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Negotiations, Nurses, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Overdosing, POV Kindaichi Yuutarou, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, Pain, Parent Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Past, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Pathologists, Pedophilia, Permanent Injury, Physical Disability, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Plot, Police, Police Officer Sawamura Daichi, Post-High School, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Pro Volleyball Player Bokuto Koutarou, Pro Volleyball Player Hoshiumi Kourai, Pro Volleyball Player Ushijima Wakatoshi, Psychological Drama, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Recovered Memories, Rehabilitation, Repressed Memories, Resentment, Romance, Sad, Sakusa Kiyoomi-centric, Self-Indulgent, Shippy Gen, Shounen-ai, Slow Burn, Social Media, Stalking, Suffering, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suspense, Tags May Change, Teacher Sugawara Koushi, Tension, The Author Regrets Nothing, Theft, Tragedy, Trauma, Trials, University, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Wakes & Funerals, Wheelchairs, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 62
Words: 323,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misCOWculation/pseuds/misCOWculation
Summary: Years after Iwaizumi Hajime was falsely incarcerated for the murder of Oikawa Tooru, Kindaichi Yuutarou and his senior, Prosecutor Sakusa Kiyoomi, seek to get Iwaizumi out of prison for good by hunting the real killer.Featuring: SakuAtsu, KageHina, and past IwaOi
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio & Kindaichi Yuutarou & Kunimi Akira, Kindaichi Yuutarou & Kunimi Akira, Kindaichi Yuutarou & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Shard Society [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794163
Comments: 1059
Kudos: 631
Collections: scintillas of euphoria and reverie





	1. Prologue

**April 1st, 2018**

It was late afternoon when they arrived in Sendai, Kunimi Akira flipping the sun visor down as the golden sunlight struck his eyes. Grumbling, he took a left, glancing at the rear-view mirror to see his two roommates—Yahaba Shigeru and Goshiki Tsutomu—snoring away. Goshiki, wearing a grey tracksuit, slept almost completely upright, strangely enough, mumbling something utterly incoherent every so often. His bowl cut—which he had kept since high school—fluffed upward in random directions, testimony to the four-and-a-half hours they'd been driving. Unlike his black-haired seatmate, Yahaba snoozed slumped against the window with his jacket over him, his cheek pressing against the warmed glass. His mousy brown hair was flat against his head, not at all the voluptuous form it usually was. The girls back at Todai's campus would have been disappointed to see their campus prince in such a state.

Kindaichi Yuutarou—Kunimi's best friend since grade school—was wide awake, his head turned to the side to watch the scenery go by.

"Hey," Kunimi spoke, keeping his eyes on the road. Out of the four of them, he was the most careful driver. "Don't tell me you're thinking about them."

"Them?" Kindaichi echoed, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Drink some water."

"Yeah, yeah. But who's 'them'?"

Kunimi scoffed. "Don't play dumb." They slowed down to a halt in front of a red light, starting to exit the inner city. Their destination was, after all, toward the outer suburbs. "I knew we shouldn't have come here. You get that look in your eyes whenever we do."

"I do _not_."

"You can't lie to me, Kindaichi. I've known you since diapers." Kunimi tapped his fingers against the wheel. "This is our homecoming. No need to dwell on bad memories."

Kindaichi stared at him before chuckling, a shadow of a smile on his face. "Yeah, you're right. Oi, take a right here. It's a shortcut."

The GPS protested, but Kunimi ignored it, swerving to the right.

Finally, twenty minutes later, they were home. Or, rather, at the small villa they had rented for the next four days. They'd opted to stay together, and there was no way any of their parents could've accommodated four extra bodies.

"Alright," Kindaichi yawned as he stepped out of the car, stretching. "Oi, you two," he ducked his head back inside, "Wake up, we're here."

Goshiki awoke with a hilarious snort, jumping up and smashing the crown of his head against the roof. "Ah, shit! Kindaichi! We talked about this."

"I didn't even yell this time, 'Shiki." Just because he felt slightly bad about the situation, he opened the door for the black-haired man. "Hey, wake Yahaba up, too."

"Fine. Oi, senpai, wake up." Goshiki nudged Yahaba's jeans-covered leg with one foot.

"Mrrrgh... Five more minutes..."

Kunimi pressed the horn, and Yahaba hollered. "Yeah, no," he deadpanned. "Get up already, senpai, we're here."

"Kunimi!" growled Yahaba, taking off his seat belt rather aggressively. "I'll strangle you, you brat."

"That guy sure gets grouchy when his sleep's interrupted," Goshiki remarked to Kindaichi as they opened up the boot to collect their luggage.

"Hah!" Kindaichi laughed. "As if you're any different."

"I am!" Goshiki argued, defensive. "I'm not the one threatening murder here."

Their villa had four rooms—a bedroom for all of them to sleep in, a cozy bathroom for one, a kitchen, and a small living room with a television. Yahaba claimed the bath first, muttering something about his hair, and Goshiki busied himself in the kitchen, taking out the snacks and cooking supplies they had brought along. He and Kunimi were the only ones who knew how to cook proper meals, and the latter was far too sleepy to do anything at the moment except lie sprawled like a starfish on top of his futon.

"I can't believe I managed to stay awake for that long. We woke up at dawn, too," he grouched as Kindaichi blew dust off the top of the only medium-sized cabinet in the room and put his backpack on it.

"Me neither," Kindaichi admitted. "But there was no way I was gonna trust Yahaba behind the wheel."

Kunimi snorted. "That's as good as letting a monkey steer." He groaned. "I'm gonna take a nap now. See you in maybe six hours from now." Then he fell silent, and Kindaichi had little trouble believing that his friend was already asleep. It was a superpower of Kunimi's, that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat anytime he wished to.

Kindaichi could only wish that he had even a smidgen of that power. Sighing, he took out his toiletries and headed to the bathroom. "I'm coming in, senpai," he announced as he opened the door. There was a tiled partition separating the bathing area from the toilet and the sink.

"Close the door!" Yahaba yelled. "It's cold!"

He did, and proceeded to wash his face and put his toothbrush—it was blue; Kunimi's was green, Goshiki's was red, and Yahaba's was yellow—in the metal cup by the sink. By tonight, the three other toothbrushes would be sitting inside too.

"Hey, Kindaichi," Yahaba said loudly. Over the running water, he probably had no idea how loud he needed to be in order for Kindaichi to hear him. "Did Kunimi fall asleep already?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Huh? What did you say?"

"Yeah, why?" Kindaichi repeated, this time making sure to be very loud.

"And Goshiki?"

"In the kitchen. He's starting tonight's soup."

"Then it's just you and me." The squeak of a tap as Yahaba turned off the water. "Gimme half an hour, and then we'll head down to the memorial park."

"GAHHHH!" Goshiki's scream could be heard all the way from the kitchen. "Spider! Fuck! Get away from my carrots, you little bastard!"

"Half an hour?" Kindaichi echoed, putting his face towel aside. "What're you gonna do, give yourself a manicure?"

"Aw, shuddup." Yahaba stepped out from behind the partition with a towel around his waist just as Kindaichi opened the door, letting a chill into the bathroom. "Gah! You totally did that on purpose!"

Half an hour passed by, and Kindaichi was lounging in front of the television, flicking through the different channels with eyes glazed over. _Yahaba-senpai always takes an eon to get ready. Guess he had that in common with Oikawa-san._ He knew for a fact that Goshiki had already finished preparing his soup, and had moved on to washing and cutting the vegetables for tonight's curry.

By the time Yahaba came out of the bedroom, dressed in green khaki shorts and a navy plaid shirt, Kindaichi—still in the same shirt and shorts as this morning—was on the verge of nodding off.

"About time," grunted Kindaichi, getting up and wincing at how stiff his back felt. "I feel like I'm a hundred years old."

"I didn't take _that_ long, Kindaichi."

"My little sister takes half the time it takes you get ready and she wears an entire pound of makeup every time she goes out."

Things grew quiet between them as they went outside, Kindaichi passing a hand through his undercut as the spring breeze blew past. Maybe, Kindaichi thought, that it had hit them then. Where they were going, and what had torn Aobajosai apart all those years ago.

"Senpai," Kindaichi said suddenly. "Do you still keep in contact with Hanamaki-san and Matsukawa-san?"

Yahaba gave him a look. "No. I haven't spoken to either of them since high school. Don't you remember? They blocked all of our numbers. Removed themselves from every group chat. Avoided the hell out of us up until graduation." He sighed. "I don't blame 'em. Out of all of us on the team... they were the ones who were closest to Oikawa and Iwaizumi."

"Yeah, I remember. Maybe I just had some hope."

"If hope exists," said Yahaba, "Then Oikawa would've had justice." Silence stretched once more before Yahaba added, "Maybe, if he had lived... Maybe I'd still be playing volleyball."

Kindaichi looked down briefly at his hand, which hadn't palmed a volleyball in years. "Heh. Maybe. And Kyoutani?"

"Pretends like I don't exist. It's better that way."

"Is it?"

"For him it is. I don't think he knows any other way to deal with all this shit. Activated his fight or flight response, like some wild animal."

When they arrived at Oikawa's memorial, they found that it was as empty and bare as it had always been. Just a single headstone, with an epitaph inscribed. His family had moved away years ago. Unable to cope the grief, Kindaichi assumed.

"Shit," Yahaba murmured, "We should've brought flowers. Milk bread. _Something_. Iwaizumi would have. It looks so... hollow."

It did—just a singular headstone, far away from the others. His family had wanted to give him some privacy, Kindaichi guessed. A stone weighed down his heart as he crouched in front of the grave, clutching the top of the stone. It was cold. "He was a great captain. A great senpai. And the best setter I ever knew."

"Yeah," Yahaba choked out, "He was."

They left him with prayers, their legs feeling numb as they exited the memorial park. For the next ten minutes, they walked idly around the neighborhood, not wanting quite yet to return back to the villa, where Kunimi was sleeping soundly and Goshiki was preparing dinner in peace.

"Kitagawa is just around the corner," Kindaichi said at one point, giving the bakery they had just passed a backwards glance. "Wanna go?"

Yahaba shrugged. "Not like we have anything better to do."

So they went. The school grounds were hauntingly devoid of people. Most students had gone home by now, with only a few staying behind for their club. Kindaichi signed them in as visitors at the front office, shamelessly using his status as an alumnus to convince the front desk lady to let him explore for nostalgia's sake. Then they were off, circling the perimeters at a languid pace and watching the sun set slowly over the horizon.

"So this is where Oikawa went to school, huh?" Yahaba mused, looking up at one of the three gymnasiums the school boasted. Perhaps it was fate—or just coincidence—but it also happened to be the one where the current boy's volleyball team were practicing.

"And us," Kindaichi added, referring to Kunimi as well. "And..." He shook his head, his heart hardening. "Never mind."

Eventually, they arrived at the old shoe lockers in a side building. There wasn't much to see here, but Kindaichi was searching for a particular locker. After 2010—his second year in middle school—he knew the school had replaced some of the old shoe lockers with newer ones. Which meant—

"Here it is," Kindaichi declared, stopping in front of Oikawa's old shoe locker. It had multiple stickers on it—personalized by the most recent owner and some fan girls.

"Whoa." Yahaba stared at it in mild disbelief. "That thing practically screams 'Oikawa'."

Kindaichi tried toggling with the combination halfheartedly, only to falter when the door creaked open slowly. _What the...? It's unlocked?_ Curious, he peered inside. It was empty except for a single folded piece of paper.

"What is it?" Yahaba's voice sounded next to his ear, making him startle.

"Er, I don't know, actually." Cautiously, he reached into the locker and pulled out the dusty paper. Hands trembling slightly, he unfolded it. "What..." His face paled as he read the contents—read the disturbingly hurried handwriting.

Yahaba had fallen silent, too, his face just as white.

Licking his lips, Kindaichi read out loud:

_"I will hide_

_"I will run_

_"I am the one_

_"Who killed_

_"Oikawa-san_

_"Don't look at me with horror_

_"I see it in your gaze_

_"They are like knives_

_"That rip my soul apart_

_"Please_

_"Please_

_"Don't let me drown_

_"Sanzu River that reflects in your eyes_

_"Like afternoon sun."_

Behind him, Kindaichi could hear Yahaba start to breathe quickly as they both realized the same thing.

"This was written by Oikawa's killer," Kindaichi said, his stomach flipping. Fear. Disgust. _Hope_. "And his handwriting is _nothing_ like Iwaizumi's."

* * *

_**A/N: Welcome to my new quarantine long-fic. This is the prologue, so it's short. Normal chapters will be longer, at least I hope so, lol.** _


	2. Mr. Sakusa and Ms. Okazaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi attends his interview with Prosecutor Sakusa Kiyoomi.

**April 7th, 2018**

Their spring vacation lasted all of four days—they returned to school on the 5th for the entrance ceremony. The start of Kindaichi's first year of graduate school, a two-year program that offered him a Juris Doctor degree upon completion. The first two days were relaxed, classes having yet to commence for him. On the third day, he woke up to sunlight filtering through the blinds, and Goshiki humming in the dorm kitchen.

Yawning, Kindaichi dragged himself out of the bed, heading toward he kitchen. "Mornin', 'Shiki."

"Yo, Kindaichi," Goshiki answered without looking at him, his eyes glued to the television as he whisked some sort of mixture in a metal bowl. "You slept like the dead."

On TV, an unfairly attractive celebrity chef was doing a tutorial for a pastry dessert. Kindaichi barely spared the screen a glance before grabbing a glass and filling it up with water. He and Goshiki were the only ones still in the dorm this afternoon—Kunimi was spending the entire day with his boss, having secured an internship last year. It would end in autumn this year, though Kunimi had mentioned casually to him once that Dr. Nakamura was thinking of offering him a permanent position. Yahaba was Kindaichi's upperclassman in the School of Law and attending a Saturday tutorial, and Goshiki...

Kindaichi eyed the other man with a knowing smirk. "You're stress-baking. You changed your major again, didn't you, bro?"

"Geh!" Goshiki almost dropped his bowl. "Hey," he pointed his mixture-covered whisk at Kindaichi, who chuckled, "This is the last time you'll ever get to make fun of me for this."

"Uh huh. Sure, dude. Seriously, just go into cooking already. I'm pretty sure Le Cordon Bleu Tokyo will accept you once they get a taste of your cookies."

"It's a hobby, not what I wanna do for the rest of my life."

"Oh, and you want to study dolphin mating habits until you're grey?"

Goshiki screeched. "Stop making fun of my degree! Besides, you said it yourself—I'm changing my major. Marine biology is last year stuff."

"What's this year stuff then?" asked Kindaichi, putting down his glass on the counter.

"Sports medicine."

"Huh. I can respect that, as long as you keep at it."

"This won't be like marine biology."

Kindaichi snorted. "I feel like I've heard this spiel before at least a dozen times. Anyway," he clapped a hand on Goshiki's shoulder, "Have fun cooking with... that guy. I'm gonna head out—my interview is this afternoon."

He freshened up and got dressed—a smart white shirt and black slacks—folding his black blazer over one arm after doing his tie. It was slightly crooked, but nothing too noticeable. The last thing Kindaichi did was quickly check his hair in the mirror as he put on his watch.

"I'm heading out," he called over his shoulder. No answer—Goshiki was probably too preoccupied with his baking show. Shrugging, Kindaichi closed the door behind him.

* * *

It was around three o'clock in the afternoon when Kindaichi checked his watch. He was sitting in a cafe on the outskirts of Todai's vast campus, his coffee growing cold as he waited. Around him, students and staff alike swapped stories and talked idly—it was all white noise to him. As Kindaichi took a small sip of his latte, the door swung open, and Yahaba hurried in, shoving his phone into his jeans pocket. His hair was neat and immaculate today, and he wore a polo shirt and tan shorts. "Kindaichi! Sorry I'm late—did you wait long?"

"Nah," Kindaichi waved off his apology, "It's fine. Held up by the ladies again, huh?"

Yahaba huffed. "It's exhausting. This time, there were guys, too. So what's this about? I thought you'd be at your interview by now."

Kindaichi hesitated. "About that... There's been a change of plans. I've been thinking a lot about this, and... I'm not going to intern under Kuroo-san anymore."

"Eh? Then who...?" Yahaba trailed off as Kindaichi reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the note they had discovered in Oikawa's shoe locker—it was contained in a sandwich bag.

"I did some digging," Kindaichi confessed, staring blankly down at the plastic-covered note. "About the whole case. Maybe I would've been happy interning under Kuroo-san as a lawyer before, but now," he clenched his jaw, "I can't let this slide any longer. Especially not after this. Iwaizumi's court hearing wasn't open to the public, but I found out the name of his lawyer— _Sakusa Junji_."

"Wait," Yahaba's jaw slackened a little, " _Him_?"

"I know. I was shocked, too."

"That guy was _legendary_. They say that he'd never lost a case in his life. But then he just... disappeared."

"But he did lose," Kindaichi said grimly. "The last case he ever took was Iwaizumi's. And he _lost_. _Badly_. The entire case basically killed his career. There was too much evidence stacked up against Iwaizumi—it was impossible for him to argue otherwise."

Yahaba, disturbed, stared at Kindaichi's cup of lukewarm coffee. Then, exhaling sharply, he peered up at the younger man. "So this is what you called me for. Well, I'll tell you one thing—his son is one of the biggest hardasses you'll ever meet. He asked me two questions during my interview and tossed me out before the third one."

"Really? What were they?"

"Ugh, I don't even know. Something about cleaning habits, and then something about my zodiac sign. He's a fucking nutjob."

"He's also our only lead," retorted Kindaichi. "I read up about him, too—he passed the bar exam before he even _graduated_ somehow, _and_ he's the youngest ever prosecutor in Japan to have a one-hundred percent conviction rate. Rumor has it too that he has special interest in Iwaizumi's case."

"Rumor has it? What rumor? Where did you even hear this from?"

"Word gets around." Kindaichi hummed, thoughtful. "I think it may have started from a cleaning lady."

Yahaba deadpanned. "A cleaning lady. Seriously, Kindaichi? I'll tell it to you straight—Sakusa Kiyoomi has _never_ held onto an intern for more than a week. Don't throw away your chance with Kuroo-san for this. You told me before, didn't you? That you're gonna become a lawyer so nobody innocent ever has to go to jail again on your watch!"

"I can't just let this go!" Kindaichi insisted. "It's small, but it's also the first lead we've had in years! I can't just turn it in to anybody—the police have failed Oikawa and Iwaizumi once before. At least with this Sakusa Kiyoomi guy, he'll take it seriously. _And_ I can watch the process."

His brown-haired upperclassman groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, fine. Just... be careful, okay? I've talked to other people who've interviewed with him before. Make sure you look clean and tidy when you see him, and talk about how often you tidy up in the dorm when he asks. Say that our roommates are also clean, but make sure that one of us isn't so it's believable. Make it Goshiki, by the way." Yahaba clicked his tongue. "Not like it isn't true anyway.

"For zodiac signs—be anything but Pisces, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, or Sagittarius. There might be other no-no signs, but I don't know for sure."

"Ah..." _That's almost half of the signs._ And it didn't help at all that he was a Gemini. _Wait a minute, why is this even relevant at all? What a weird guy._ "And the third question?"

"Dunno. Didn't get there. Talked to a couple that did and it was always different."

Kindaichi downed the rest of his coffee—now cold—in one gulp before wiping his mouth with a napkin. "There was nothing in common?"

"From the what I've heard, no. Most students in the law faculty have completely written him off by now." Yahaba chuckled. "Can't exactly blame 'em, either—who'd wanna work under a guy who thinks zodiac signs are important? He probably consults Oha Asa every day." He paused. "Then again, his incarceration rate says he's at least doing _something_ right."

"Hi there!"

Both Yahaba and Kindaichi jumped, eyes widening at the sudden appearance of a cafe worker with orange hair. Immediately, Kindaichi shoved the killer's note back into his shirt pocket. The waiter was quite short, and his beaming smile made up half of his face. The sleeves of his striped shirt were rolled up to the elbows, and his green apron was covered with food stains.

"Er," said Yahaba, only to be talked over.

"Are you done with that, sir?" the waiter asked Kindaichi.

"Um, yeah. Here." Kindaichi pushed his empty cup and saucer toward the man. "Are you a first year? I've never seen you around."

The waiter pouted. "I'm a fourth year! And I used to work at the bubble tea shop at the north end of the campus."

"Oh, shit." Kindaichi coughed, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, man."

"Way to go, Kindaichi," laughed Yahaba. "Sorry about him. What's your degree?"

As the orange-haired man rattled off his major to Yahaba, Kindaichi's phone dinged, and he looked down and pulled it out of his pants pocket. It was a text notification from his digital calendar, reminding him that his interview with Sakusa was in twenty minutes. "Hey," he started, standing up with his eyes still glued to his phone. "I gotta go. I'll see you later, senpai." He glanced briefly at their waiter. "And, er..."

"Hinata Shouyou," the man introduced himself easily.

"Right. I'm Kindaichi Yuutarou."

"Hinata!" the female manager of the shop called from the counter, clapping her hands. "Coffee run, come on! Let's move those legs, kiddo!"

"Gah! Coming!" Hinata lifted a hand toward Yahaba and Kindaichi in farewell. "See you around!"

"Well, he sure is exciting," commented Yahaba. "But you should probably get moving. Sakusa's probably the kind of guy to look down on tardiness."

"Yeah—it's fifteen past already?! Shit!"

Yahaba called after Kindaichi's retreating back as the latter frantically tore at the door. "Good luck!" _He'll definitely need it._

* * *

 _Ah._ Nervously, Kindaichi adjusted his tie, checking his appearance in the full-body mirror in the waiting lobby. The public prosecutor's office was a ten minute walk from the east end of the campus, and he had made it to the semi-skyscraper of an office building with five minutes to spare. He spent those now in a tense silence, feeling electricity crackle around him. _Yahaba said neat and tidy._ Kindaichi turned in the mirror. _This should be good enough, right?_

"Kindaichi-san?"

Wincing, Kindaichi turned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "Yes, that's me."

Before him was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen; she had short black hair and her skin glowed—a face that he would be seeing very often if he got the internship. As far as he knew, she was a receptionist, and around his age, too. Maybe a bit older.

"I'm Shimizu Kiyoko," the woman introduced herself with a bow, her black blouse creasing slightly. Kindaichi reciprocated the action. "Please come with me. Sakusa-san has been expecting you."

"T-thank you."

Kindaichi walked a polite distance behind her, feeling that it was only right. From the way she spoke and carried herself, she was definitely his senior. She led him into the elevator, and pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

"I hope you aren't spooked too easily," Shimizu abruptly remarked as they slowed to a stop in front of a silver door. There was a glass section that allowed them to peer inside, but Sakusa had pulled the window blind over it. "Good luck on your interview, Kindaichi-san."

 _Is this guy a demon?_ Still mulling over her strange words, Kindaichi only nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line.

The clicking of Shimizu's heels faded into the background as Kindaichi knocked once on the door and pushed down on the handle. It gave way with a click. "Pardon the intrusion," Kindaichi declared, frowning when there was no response. Just for the sake of it, he wriggled his tie one more time.

The first room was a common room with some couches and an ottoman surrounding a coffee-colored table. Kindaichi couldn't help but how cleanly it glistened beneath the ceiling light. Shelves of tomes lined the walls, a spacious gap between a mahogany shelf and a midnight-black one for the window. Curious, he walked up to it, feeling his stomach flip a little as he stared downward at the sidewalk.

In the corner of the common room was a small kitchen—it looked brand new, as if nobody had ever used it before.

Looming to his right was another door, one which undoubtedly led to Sakusa's office.

"Oh?" Kindaichi turned his head as a brown-haired woman emerged from a door to the left that he hadn't spotted the first time. Her outfit was similar to Shimizu's—a black pencil skirt and a white blouse. Her hair was twisted in a professional up-do, and her lips lined with crimson. "You must be the new guy. Welcome to our humble abode." She let out a high little laugh, fanning herself with one hand. "I'm so embarrassed you've caught me like this—trust me when I say I definitely don't look like this most of the time. The name's Okazaki Hana. What's yours?"

A little hastily, Kindaichi bowed to her. "Kindaichi Yuutarou. It's nice to meet you, ma'am. You're Sakusa-san's secretary?"

"Hmm, something like that. Personal janitor is a more apt description. Oh!" Okazaki gasped, as if she had suddenly remembered something. Then headed back into the room that she came from and returned with some sort of palm-sized instrument. "Please hold still, Kindaichi-san, this will be over in a minute."

"W-wait, what are you—?" Kindaichi's throat bobbed, but kept still anyway. The woman lifted her arm up until Kindaichi was staring at her elbow. Then a beeping noise could be heard.

"Oh, good," said Okazaki, stepping back. "Your temperature is perfectly normal." Then she pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer out of her skirt pocket. "Hold out your hands, Kindaichi-san."

Feeling rather out of his depth, Kindaichi obeyed. _First she checks my temperature... then she's offering me hand sanitizer? Is she a clean freak?_ Something dawned on him. _Cleaning habits. Yahaba said Sakusa-san asked about his cleaning habits. So this is all part of his germ paranoia then?_ The cold liquid gel landed with an uncomfortable plop in his palms.

When Kindaichi began to rub it into his skin, Okazaki clicked her tongue, making a sound of disapproval. "No, no, no, not like that! _This_ is how you ensure proper cleaning."

"R-right, sorry..." Kindaichi tried his best to copy her hand gymnastics, but it was a halfhearted imitation at most.

"This one's a goner," Okazaki muttered under her breath when she thought she was out of his earshot. When her back was turned, Kindaichi scowled, baleful. Louder, she said, "Sakusa-san will see you now."

There was a thump from Sakusa's office that almost made Kindaichi jump out of his skin. Until now, it had been dead silent in there—so much so that he had been beginning to doubt if the famed prosecutor was even inside.

"Send him in," a muffled voice replied from behind the door.

"Yessir." Okazaki handed Kindaichi some plastic gloves. "Here, put these on. Sanitizer only kills ninety-nine point nine percent of those nasty bugs."

"Is this really necessary?" Kindaichi blurted, finding this more absurd by the minute.

"Oh, trust me, it definitely is. If you think this is bad, you should see how he gets on Fridays." Okazaki nudged him. "Now go on. Don't keep the good man waiting." He could've sworn that she had snickered between her words, but he said nothing of it. Choosing to be the bigger person, Kindaichi straightened, put on the gloves, and marched straight up to the door.

It opened without a sound—so much so that Kindaichi felt a chill run down his spine. Breathing out, he stepped into Sakusa's office. The man was seated at his desk. He was nothing like Kindaichi had expected. Aside from the mask on his face, he seemed so normal in his suit and tie that the man dared to relax, tension easing out of his shoulders. Sakusa's hair was parted on the right, his hair sweeping over to the left, fully exposing what Kindaichi thought was a snakebite above his right eye at first.

Sakusa's flinty gaze shifted upward to look at him. "You're the new intern, correct?" he said, curt.

"Yes, I'm Kindaichi Yuutarou. I'm studying for my Juris Doctor in the School of Law."

"Take a seat, Kindaichi-san."

Sakusa flipped through whatever paperwork he still had left before pushing it aside and steepling his fingers. "Your breath stinks like coffee," he deadpanned, pushing a bowl of wrapped mints toward him. "Chew quickly. Don't _ever_ come into my office with _coffee breath_."

Kindaichi decided to skip an apology and just down the mint as fast as possible. Sakusa would probably appreciate that more than any half-assed apology anyway. "It won't happen again," he promised after swallowing.

The prosecutor wasted no time in continuing. "Have you gotten your flu shots?"

 _I'll have to get one tomorrow._ "Yes."

"Good. You live with roommates?"

"Yes."

"What about their flu shots?"

"They all have theirs, too."

Sakusa twirled his pen in his hand. "How often do you shower?"

 _Once a day._ "Twice a day. Once in the morning, and once at night."

"What day do you allocate cleaning time in your dorm? And who does what?"

"Er..." Kindaichi finally stumbled, trying to come up with any sort of answer that didn't sound like it came out of his ass. Remembering what Okazaki had said about Fridays, he tried his luck. "Fridays? I clean the bathroom, Kunimi does the kitchen, and Yahaba does the bedroom. Uh, our fourth roommate, Goshiki, doesn't really take part. He's not that kind of guy."

Sakusa's expression soured. "Gross. I hate people who have no sense of personal hygiene."

"Yeah," Kindaichi said quickly. "They're the worst, right?"

"Agreeing with everything I say makes you annoying."

"Yeah, I—wait, what?"

Sakusa cocked an eyebrow. "Did I say something wrong?"

Weakly, Kindaichi started, "You said I'm..."

"Annoying, yes. You're not a _Pisces_ , are you?"

"No, sir, I'm a Scorpio." Kindaichi was still wrapping his head around being called annoying straight to his face when Sakusa practically bent the entirety of his wrist forward, his palm pressing against the inside of his forearm in some sort of demonic hand exercise. "Uh..." _What the hell?! Does he even have bones?! What the fuck am I looking at?!_

"Stop staring," Sakusa ordered, flatly. "Scorpio, you say? A Scorpio would never be this _squeamish_."

Kindaichi tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. "Yep," he lied for the nth time today, "I'm a Scorpio."

"What a _jolly coincidence_ ," the prosecutor bent his seemingly boneless wrist the other direction so that the back of his fingers touch his arm, maintaining eye contact all the while, "So am _I_."

 _Shit. He's gonna throw me out right now, isn't he?_ In Kindaichi's pocket, the killer's note felt heavier than before. _No, I can't. I have to do this._ He started to stand. "Sakusa-san—"

"Sit _down_ , Kindaichi-san. I have one more question for you."

 _Wait, what?_ Slumping, Kindaichi sat down again. _He's gonna ask me... his third question? I thought he was gonna throw me out the window._

Sakusa stopped bending his hands placed them flat on his desk instead. "Kindaichi-san," he inquired calmly, his voice smooth and controlled, "Why are you here?"

_Why am I here?_

Exhaling slowly, Kindaichi looked him straight in the eye, brow lowered. Then, he took the note out of his shirt pocket, placed it on the desk, and pushed it toward Sakusa. "I'm here," he said, "Because of this."

Wordlessly, Sakusa snapped on a pair of disposable gloves—for whatever reason, he kept a box of them on his desk—and took the sandwich bag. He unzipped it, frowning slightly as he pinched the note out with two fingers. Kindaichi could only watch on in anticipation as Sakusa unfolded the written confession.

"Oikawa-san was my friend and my senior," Kindaichi explained when the other man didn't say anything. His fists clenched on his lap, and he glared at the table. "Six years ago, he was _murdered_. I came to you because I want him to finally rest in peace. And he can't do that if his best friend is in prison, and the true killer walks free. _Please_ , Sakusa-san."

Sakusa turned the note around, examining the date on the top of the note, which had been written in red pen. "Hey," he finally said, and Kindaichi looked up. "This better not be some fucking prank." Before Kindaichi could open his mouth to protest, Sakusa went on, lifting the note toward the ceiling light, "I'll get this tested. Get the penmanship compared. My father had an entire list of suspects."

Mouth dry, Kindaichi nodded. "Thank you."

"Now, unless you have anything else to show me, leave. Be back here tomorrow by nine o'clock. And do _not_ be late."

"Yessir!" Kindaichi stood abruptly, bowing to the prosecutor. _Finally...!_ He couldn't resist a smile. _After all these years, finally!_

* * *

As soon as Kindaichi was gone, Sakusa's door opened once more. The man looked up from the note. "You heard everything." It was a statement, not a question. _Nosy woman._

"I did," Okazaki said with a warm smile. "Congratulations, Sakusa-san."

"Tch. Don't celebrate too soon." Narrowing his eyes, Sakusa glowered at the paper. "This case was officially resolved years ago. Unless I can actually get something substantial from this flimsy thing, I won't have the means to launch a proper investigation."

Okazaki let out an airy laugh. "When has that ever stopped you, Sakusa-san?" She shook her head. "Oh well. None of my business anyway—I just came to inform you that I've discovered a rather nasty mold growing in the dishwasher."

Swearing, Sakusa knocked an entire stack of paperwork over with his elbow. "How dangerous is it?" he demanded, grimacing behind his mask.

"It'll be gone by tonight, sir."

"Ugh. Make sure it is—I'm leaving early. Tell the Chief that I'll be doing the rest of my work at _home_." Grumbling, Sakusa shoved his remaining paperwork into the main space of his briefcase bag—sleek, midnight black, classy—and shimmied around his desk. The killer's note had gone into a secret compartment in the back of the bag. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, he trudged past Okazaki without even a goodbye.

When she heard the common room door shut with a bang, Okazaki giggled. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that her boss was still quite young, only twenty-two. "Oh well, time to clean~!"

* * *

Admittedly, it was hard for Sakusa not to glance at his bag—resting on the passenger seat—every time he stopped at a red light. His mask was off, as he had deep trust in the state-of-the-art air filtration of his car.

Outside, it had begun to rain. People on the streets were doing their best to stay dry, putting up umbrellas, jackets, or bags over their heads.

His fingers tapped on the leather of the steering wheel. _Six years. Six years since he lost the case. Six years since he tore our family apart._ Sakusa's gaze darkened. And now, finally, Kindaichi Yuutarou had appeared before him like a summoned wraith, offering the first piece of new evidence in his desperate yearning for justice for Oikawa. For the man who had been imprisoned in place of the killer. His classmates and his upperclassmen.

The radio, which had been softly crooning an instrumental piece, changed to a podcast segment. _"Thank you for waiting, Japan. And now, we invite one of the fastest-growing celebrity chefs onto Tokyo Talks. Specializing in desserts, we're welcoming_ — _"_

He switched it off.

The light turned green.

Sakusa drove forward as the rain bled downward on the windshield, only to be swept away by the wiper. _You've had six years. Now we're gonna end this once and for all, bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If all this horoscope stuff reminds you of a green-haired basketball player... Heh.


	3. The First Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi and Sakusa meet the first suspect.

_When he was young—perhaps twelve or thirteen—the old man living next door passed away, and a new family moved in._

_Sakusa watched from the window of his room, impassive, as a couple in their late-thirties came out of the car to consolidate with the movers. Then the green-haired kid came out, pushing his spectacles upward with long, spindly fingers. For whatever reason, he carried with him an a Russian nesting doll, which he was careful not to drop on the sidewalk._

_To his surprise, his father went outside to greet the family. He carried most of the conversation—the boy's mother merely nodded along, while the boy's father seemed to be in deep thought._

_Later, he learned the family went by Midorima._

_The boy's name was Shintaro._

_And their fathers were colleagues._

* * *

**April 8th, 2018**

_He's late._

Feeling his temper flare ever so slightly, Sakusa shoved his hands in his pockets. Sleep had almost entirely evaded him last night—he'd been too absorbed in the implications of the note, and whatever results it would yield. It took more effort than he would have liked as he stood, waiting for the nondescript door to open. But, eventually, it did, and a man with unevenly cut bangs stood at the doorway.

"At least lean on the wall, you freak," Shirabu Kenjirou said in lieu of greeting, crossing his arms. His lab coat was crinkled.

"Hilarious, Shirabu. Is Miyazawa not with you?"

"No. The old man's performing an autopsy in the other lab."

"Good."

Shirabu pursed his lips as he stood aside for Sakusa, who proceeded to invited himself in without any ceremony. The black-haired man closed the door with the heel of his shoe. "You really like throwing your weight around, don't you?"

Sakusa cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't seem to have any complaints when I called you yesterday."

"Yeah, well," the coroner's assistant huffed, turning away. "Ugh. This incident... It happened in my high school hey-days. Same prefecture, same town. I won't lie—I'm curious as hell." Shirabu swept over to a counter and picked up the note, holding it up for Sakusa to see. "The date seems to match. And—this is the fun part—there were traces of blood." He smirked as Sakusa's cheek twitched beneath his mask, tapping the bottom left corner of the note. "Not much of it, though. Just this little bit here."

"Don't stand so close to me."

"Why?" He lifted his gloved hands. "Afraid I'll get some of those _nasty germs_ on you?"

Sakusa glared. " _Shirabu_."

"Alright, alright. Calm down, prosecutor."

"I am perfectly calm."

"Right. Do you want to see?" Shirabu asked, reaching for the portable black-light. There was a bottle of luminol spray on the same table, which had clearly been used before. Without waiting for confirmation, he switched off the room light and turned the black-light on. "Here." The man held the light toward the note.

Whatever had caused the blood the spatter on the page had come from the left.

 _From the way the note was torn,_ Sakusa mused, _The bottom half could've well been drenched in blood. In a hurry, wasn't he?_

"It's contradictory, right?" Shirabu ventured. "Obviously, he was in a rush. But, I mean, the guy wrote a confession note equivalent. You can practically feel the guilt seeping from the words. It's like he wants to get caught, but also doesn't."

"It's not that unusual. It's the same reason why people go to confessionals—to absolve themselves of guilt with the comfort of privacy." Sakusa narrowed his eyes at the tiny spatter of blood which had appeared under the black-light, stripped of all anonymity—bare for all to see. Shirabu had stood back a little, a small frown creasing his brows as he observed the prosecutor. In his rush yesterday, he had neglected to ask Kindaichi questions about just _where_ he had found the note. But, wherever it had been, one theory stuck out to him the most.

 _There was a fight._ Likely, it was the other person's blood, not the killer's. Not unless it had been this mysterious person holding the note, which was unlikely. Frustration coursed through him for a second, so strong that it nearly knocked him off his feet. There wasn't even a guarantee that the writer was the same person as the murderer. _But it's still better than nothing._ "Oi, Shirabu."

"Hm?"

"You ran the blood sample through the system, right?"

" _I_ didn't, Obata did. She hasn't gotten back to me yet, though."

"And the handwriting?"

"That American guy—Smith, I think?—yeah, he's the go-to guy for that kinda stuff. And—I'm sure you'll be happy to know—we found a match." He paused before reconsidering. "Several, actually." Shirabu side-stepped him, reaching for a drawer. He took out a piece of paper, which he handed to Sakusa. "Here's all the suspects. I'll get back to you on the blood samples once Obata's done with them. Good luck, prosecutor."

Contrary to popular belief, though, Sakusa never did put _too_ much faith into things like luck.

* * *

The university clinic was open from eight-thirty in the morning to six o'clock in the evening. As such, it was in the waiting room that Kindaichi sat, his knee bouncing up and down. _Come on!_ he shouted impatiently in his head, checking his phone every so often. _What's taking so long? I have to meet Sakusa-san at nine sharp!_

The receptionist was answering a call for booking when a girl—she looked like a third or fourth year medical student—emerged from further inside the clinic. "Kindaichi-san?" she said loudly, looking at her clipboard. "Izuki-san will see you now."

"Thank you." He barely bit back a ruder response, power-walking down the hallway to Dr. Izuki's room. "I'm in a hurry," he informed the good doctor apologetically as soon as he stepped inside.

The man harrumphed. "Well, alright. Sit down, Kindaichi-san."

For students, flu shots were free every year. Kindaichi looked away from his rolled-up sleeve and the glistening needle.

Once he was out, a tiny, circular bandage on the vaccination area, he pulled out his phone for the time once more, feeling his heart skip a beat. Then something hard slammed into his shoulder, and his gaze snapped upward to meet someone's blue eyes, which were wide in shock.

"Kageyama?" Kindaichi spluttered, almost dropping his phone.

"Oh..." Kageyama Tobio, now with hair parted in a way that reminded Kindaichi of Kunimi's high school hairstyle, lowered his eyes. He stepped around Kindaichi. "Sorry."

"Wait!" he blurted without thinking. Kageyama turned around with wary eyes, and Kindaichi felt his mouth go dry. _What the hell am I even supposed to say to him?_ He had seen Kageyama a few times on campus throughout their university years, but they hadn't spoken since high school. "It's nothing. Sorry, man."

When he arrived at Sakusa's office, he was greeted by a smiling Okazaki, who held out a wet towel to him with tongs. "I suspected you might have ran here," she said, greatly amused. "Quickly, now—you'll want to wipe that sweat off your face before you see him."

"Thank you so much," breathed Kindaichi, relieved. He fixed his hair back into place and wiped his face before Okazaki grabbed the used cloth with her tongs.

"He's inside," Okazaki told him.

As soon as Kindaichi opened the door, he was almost barreled over by Sakusa emerging through he doorway. "Watch it," the prosecutor warned, barely giving Kindaichi a glance.

"Wait!" Kindaichi exclaimed as the prosecutor headed toward the door. "Where are you...?"

"Are you just gonna stand there yelling?" Sakusa turned back around, eyes flinty. "Come with me—we start _now_."

Okazaki giggled. He hadn't notice before, but she was wearing a plain outfit with an apron over it, a drastic change from yesterday's dressing up. "Good luck, boys!"

Kindaichi gave her a terse nod, lifting up a hand in farewell, before following Sakusa out the door.

"W-wait, sir," Kindaichi said, a little meekly, as he did his best to keep up with Sakusa's pace. "Where are we going?"

Instead of answering, Sakusa tossed him a bottle of hand sanitizer, which he caught neatly. "This is for you. A welcoming present, if you want."

"Thank you? But wait!"

Sakusa held the door to the elevator with one foot. "Hurry up, Kindaichi-san." When Kindaichi was inside, he gestured to the buttons. "Press 'C'."

 _The car park,_ Kindaichi realized. He felt his heart beat a little louder—a little faster—as the lift descended. His stomach was no better, twisting and churning in nervous anticipation. There was barely any time for him to gain his bearings and think—ever since this morning, it was like his world had started to spin on overdrive. From the clinic's incessant lumbering to his run-in with Kageyama— _why did he look like high school Kunimi now?_ —his life was getting more exciting and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Sakusa stepped out almost immediately, Kindaichi close behind. There weren't very many cars in the underground parking lot, but most of them looked similar—all of them varying shades of white, gray, or black.

Sakusa's car, Kindaichi soon found out, was so dark that he had almost missed it sitting in the shadow.

"Excuse the mess," Sakusa said as he unlocked the car, pulling the door to the driver's seat open.

"It's fine," Kindaichi managed to say as he got into the passenger seat, deadpanning at just how _clean_ the inside of his car was. _Kunimi could learn a thing or two from this guy._ His best friend's car was always cluttered in some way. "Sakusa-san?" he asked when they got outside, narrowing his eyes at the sudden brightness. Sakusa, on the other hand, seemed rather unaffected, having donned a classy pair of shades on before exiting.

"We're meeting our first suspect," Sakusa answered. "There should be a notepad in the glove box—take it out, it's yours now."

Kindaichi opened the glove box. Sure enough, the notepad sat in there innocently, next to an unopened box of disposable gloves. Curious, he reached inside and flipped through it. On the last page was a list of names that had been penned down recently. Three, to be exact.

The first two names were unknown to him, but the third—

Kindaichi almost choked. _H... Hanamaki Takahiro?!_ "This can't be right," he said weakly. Sakusa's gaze slid over to him for a brief moment. "No, Hanamaki-san would _never_ kill Oikawa-san!" He made to cross the name out, but a single word from Sakusa halted him.

"Don't."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, Kindaichi's hand lowering as they rolled up to a stop light.

"Hanamaki-san," Sakusa said. "Is only there because his penmanship matched the killer's. And the reason we have that penmanship is because his details are logged into our system. Meaning," he gave him a critical glance, "Your friend here has a criminal record."

"This is a misunderstanding. Somewhere along the way, someone must've fucked up—"

"I don't care about the process. The outcome is still the same—this man is a criminal and a suspect for a murder case."

Numb, Kindaichi could only sit quietly for a while, the weight of the notepad in his palm heavier than it should've felt. _Hanamaki-san... could've killed Oikawa? No... No way!_ "Wait," he spoke, desperate. "Hanamaki-san wasn't even a suspect back then. He had an alibi. He was at home the whole time, I remember. They asked all of us of our whereabouts."

"We didn't have his handwriting back then," retorted Sakusa. "And who knows? An alibi doesn't mean shit to me. Who saw him at home? His parents? Siblings? People who love him and care for him, I'm sure."

"He doesn't have a motive."

"Not one that we _know_ of."

"Oikawa's death _destroyed_ him!"

Sakusa's grip on the steering wheel tightened ever so slightly. "Homicide is typically a double-edged sword," he replied, his voice like splintering ice.

It was like he had an answer for everything. "I know him," Kindaichi tried one last time. "He would never kill anyone."

"No," Sakusa said. "You _knew_ him, and now you know _of_ him." He exhaled sharply, his brow creasing as he frowned at the traffic jam in front of him. "Kindaichi-san, you're not the only one with questions. I have a few for _you_ , actually."

"Of course," Kindaichi said tersely. "What are they?"

"Where did you find the note?"

"Oikawa-san's middle school shoe locker." At the strange look he got, Kindaichi elaborated, "It was the first of April. Me and a bunch of friends—my roommates—all headed back down to Sendai. It's where we all grew up."

"Their names?"

"K—"

"Wait." Louder, Sakusa uttered, "Josephine, record the names."

A computerized voice echoed in the vehicle. "Understood, Sakusa-san."

Kindaichi sputtered. "What the fuck?! You have an _AI_ in your car?!"

"The _names_ , Kindaichi-san," prompted Sakusa, a little impatiently.

"Kunimi Akira, Goshiki Tsutomu, and Yahaba Shigeru. And me, of course."

"Names recorded," chirped Josephine.

"Thank you, Josephine."

"You're very welcome, sir."

Kindaichi flipped through the notepad again, lingering on the page with the names. "Once we got settled, Yahaba and I went to visit Oikawa-san's gravestone."

"Oh?" Sakusa's fingers tapped on the wheel. It was a habit of his that Kindaichi had begun to notice. "The other two didn't come with you?"

"No. Kunimi drove us for almost five hours, so he was out like a light until dinner. Goshiki was busy cooking." They made a right. Kindaichi's left arm pressed against the door, and he looked outside momentarily. The skies were gray. Recently, it had been raining a lot—the weather forecast predicted clouds and rain showers for the rest of the week. From the top of a medium-sized building, Kindaichi locked eyes with a crow with white streaks in its feathers. Then it cawed, its wings spreading outward before flying out of sight. "After we said our prayers to Oikawa-san, I brought Yahaba to Kitagawa Daiichi."

"Oikawa-san's middle school."

"Yeah. And mine, too." He chuckled, the sound a little more watery than he would've liked. "You know, for old time's sake." Kindaichi sneaked a glance at the stone-faced prosecutor. "You probably don't get it—"

"No," he said without looking at him. "I get it."

"Oh. Well, that's where we found it. The note, in Oikawa's old shoe-locker."

"Did the locker have a name tag?"

"I—no." Kindaichi swallowed a lump in his throat. "No, it didn't. Uhh, it had a bunch of stickers on it, though... It wasn't hard to tell that it belonged to him, he had a ton of fan girls, even in middle school—"

"I'm not accusing Hanamaki-san," Sakusa interrupted. "Stop rambling. You can't deny the fact that it's very likely that Oikawa-san was acquainted with his killer in middle school."

Kindaichi lowered his gaze, feeling strangely helpless. "No," he said quietly, "I can't."

"The killer chose that place to store their confession for a reason. Whoever they are, Oikawa-san meant something to them in middle school."

"He meant a lot of things to a lot of people," Kindaichi pointed out. "It could be anyone."

"I guess we'll find out." The car slowed to a stop, and Kindaichi looked out the windshield to see a looming, decrepit apartment complex. "We're here."

* * *

 _The first suspect_ — _Semi Eita._ There wasn't much on the database about this person. Clearly, he had been a good Samaritan most of his life—or maybe he was just good at not getting caught. Sakusa had retrieved the case files for each suspect before, and Semi's crime was—so to speak—petty.

"Jaywalking?" Kindaichi sounded disbelieving when Sakusa told him his crime. "You can get a criminal record from that?"

"He also assaulted a police officer when they arrested him at his house." A pause. "By accident."

"He _accidentally_ assaulted someone?"

"Or so he claims. He maintained 'no malicious intent' throughout the whole court proceeding."

"I... wow."

They stopped in front of his door. The whole building was eerily silent; there had been no signs of life so far besides a black cat that had sprinted across the garden, hissing. Kindaichi glanced sideways at his boss, unsure of the depth of his germ phobia. But, to his surprise, Sakusa rapped his knuckles on the grimy door without even flinching.

There was some movement on the other side. "Who is it?" a male voice called, slightly muffled. "Keisuke? That you?" Footsteps, and Kindaichi's throat bobbed as they grew closer, and the door handle twisted.

"Eh?" The first thing Sakusa noticed about Semi's eyes were that they carried confusion. He looked almost exactly the same as he did in his mugshot, minus the solemn expression. It seemed his hair had gotten a little longer, too, the darkened ends curling at his neck. "Ah geez." His gaze darkened, and he suddenly became much more familiar to Sakusa. "You guys... You're with the police, aren't you?"

"We are," Sakusa confirmed, his voice clear even with his mask on. "Can we come in? There are a few questions we'd like to ask you."

Semi stared him down. "Is this about two years ago?"

"You mean your assault on Detective Sawamura? No."

The staring continued, and Sakusa could feel Kindaichi's nervousness buzzing around him like electricity.

Then Semi snapped, rather irritably. "Fine, come in. Not like I have anything to hide anyway. By the way, it was an _accidental assault_." He stepped aside to let them in. "Sit down. D'ya want tea? Water?"

 _You knocked a tooth out of the guy._ "No, it's fine," Sakusa refused, sitting on the edge of the couch. Kindaichi was a lot more at ease with the fabric, and sat further in. The apartment smelled faintly of cigarettes, and there was a drum kit near the only window in the room. "You play?"

"Nope, that's Keisuke's," Semi replied, sitting on the armchair opposite the couch. "Now what do you officers need? I served my time already."

Sakusa wasted no time. There was no use beating around the bush with his man—someone who had undoubtedly seen the dark side of society before. "I want you to think hard about this. Six years ago, on the fifth of December, where were you?"

"What the— _six years ago_? You think I can actually remember what I did that day?"

 _For your own sake, you'd better._ "Just think," Sakusa urged, mild irritation seeping into his voice. "Close your eyes, Semi-san, and think."

Muttering something under his breath, Semi reluctantly obeyed, shutting his eyes and steepling his fingers. Sakusa turned to Kindaichi, who nodded and flipped to an empty page in his notepad. Clearly, he was still fixating on Hanamaki's name.

"The fifth, huh..." Semi's frowned deepened. "That was when my alma mater—Shiratorizawa Academy—hosted a volleyball training camp." He sighed, frustrated, and scratched the back of his head. "Honestly, it was a blur. I was a third year back then, and we'd just lost the qualifiers, so I wasn't really involved. If I remember, I slept in until late afternoon. My roommate, Yamagata, drew on my face and posted a picture of it on Picstagram." He scowled deeply, pulling out his phone as Kindaichi quickly scribbled on the notepad. "Never thought I'd want that bastard to still have it on his feed..." After a few seconds, he smiled triumphantly and thrust his phone out toward them. "Here! Look, the fifth of December." His thumb moved as he scrolled up to reveal a photo of him and his roommate in town. It hadn't snowed that year. "Look's like we went out that night, too, for barbecue."

"Your roommate's name is Yamagata?" Sakusa asked offhandedly.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Could you write his name down for us? Kindaichi, give him some paper."

"Yessir," Kindaichi said, ripping a sheet for him.

"Pen?" Semi prompted grumpily.

"Oh! Uh, here."

"Thanks." Taking the pen from Kindaichi, Semi lazily penned Yamagata's name on the paper. "There." He pushed it across the table toward Sakusa. "Happy?"

Sakusa didn't deign him with a response, simply peering at the kanji with stony eyes. Hesitantly, Kindaichi glanced at his boss. "Did you meet anyone else that day?" he finally asked, looking Semi in the eye.

"Don't think so."

"There was an incident in November that made national headlines." Sakusa didn't break his stare, even when Semi looked away uneasily. "The death of a high school volleyball player."

"I'm aware," Semi said gruffly. "Oikawa Tooru. Aobajosai inched us out of our chance at nationals that year. Y'know, I was actually almost happy for him. It would've been his first time."

Kindaichi spoke without being addressed for the first time, jaw clenched. "Yeah. It would've been."

Semi's attention focused on him. "I thought you looked familiar. You were just a first year back then, weren't you?"

"I—"

"Kindaichi-san," Sakusa spoke, and the younger man bit his tongue, glowering at the table.

"Hey," Semi laughed weakly. "You're... not accusing me, are you? I'd never kill anyone. Accidentally punching someone is one thing, but killing... Yeah, fuck that. Besides, they already caught the guy, didn't they? What was his name again? Izumi-san? He was Aobajosai's ace."

"It's _Iwaizumi-san_!" Kindaichi snapped.

"Yeah, him."

"You don't even know his _damn name_ —"

" _Kindaichi-san_ ," interrupted Sakusa once more, his voice hard. "That's enough. He's not the culprit."

"He—what?"

"You heard me." Sakusa stood up, collecting the note that Semi had wrote on. "Thank you for your time, Semi-san. We apologize for the disturbance."

Semi shrugged, listless. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't doing anything important anyway." He glanced at Kindaichi just as Sakusa made for the door. "I'm sorry about Oikawa. And Iwaizumi. Didn't know 'em well, but Wakatoshi never believed he killed him either."

Sakusa stilled, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Kindaichi's voice carried forward from behind him, sounding baffled.

"Ushijima? He's on Iwaizumi-san's side?"

"Yeah. Hey," the sound of a lighter clicking opening, then the stench of fresh cigarette smoke, "He's not the only one, you know. A lot of us in the sports circuit wanted to know so badly who did it. I guess what I'm trying to say is... Go and find the real culprit. Then protect him real good from all the people who want to beat him to death. That's what cops do, right?"

There was a contemplative silence from Kindaichi.

"Kindaichi-san," Sakusa said without turning around. "We're leaving, let's go."

* * *

On the way down to the car, Sakusa squeezed hand sanitizer into his palms and rubbed it through thoroughly. There was no telling what kind of germs had been floating around in Semi and Keisuke's bachelor pad.

"You almost lost it there," he remarked. He could feel Kindaichi stiffen beside him. "Try not to do that again."

"Sorry."

"You don't want to end up being charged for 'accidental assault', do you?"

"I—no, I..." Kindaichi gawked at him.

Eyebrows lifting, Sakusa peered at him. "What? Do I have something on my face? Close your mouth."

"Was that a joke?"

Sakusa clicked his tongue. "Obviously. Are you slow or something?"

"Sorry—I, er, didn't realize you did jokes."

Kindaichi winced as Sakusa gave him a withering stare. "I can tell."

Sakusa had just started the car when Kindaichi asked him, "How did you know? That he wasn't the one who did it."

"The handwriting didn't match. And from his general behavior, I find it hard to peg him as the killer." Sakusa buckled his seatbelt, pulling his mask down so that it hugged the underside of his chin. "Trust me, he's not our guy. I'd die from shock if he was."

"Wow," mumbled Kindaichi, "You're that certain, huh?"

He reversed out of the dirt parking lot, making a mental note to get his car cleaned soon. "Were you hoping it was him?"

"Tch." Kindaichi avoided his gaze, turning his head to stare out the window instead. "And so what if I was?"

"So nothing. If it'd been him, it would've just meant Hanamaki-san is innocent. That's your reasoning, isn't it?"

Kindaichi didn't answer.

"In any case," Sakusa continued, perhaps feeling the slightest pity for his new apprentice. "It's about time we see what Hanamaki-san has to say for himself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And we'll cut it here :)
> 
> Next chapter, we'll perhaps find out the results of the blood test!


	4. A Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi meets some new (old?) faces, and the results of the blood test come out.

In the end, they never did find Hanamaki that day.

* * *

**April 12th, 2018**

It had been four days since the last time Sakusa had brought him outside for fieldwork. Between then and now, Kindaichi had only seen him another two times, both of which were at his office, where Sakusa showed him the ropes.

In the meantime, it was time for Kindaichi to start studying hard. Graduate school was no laughing matter, and he could not afford to miss any classes this semester. The work that seemed to pile on his shoulders unrelentingly despite it being the start of the term made times of relaxation just more valuable to him.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in ages," Kunimi said as Kindaichi sat down in front of him at the ice-cream shop. Thursday was one of the only days that their timetables allowed them both some free time after morning classes. A scoop of caramel ice-cream bobbed in his milkshake, which he was stirring languidly. Claiming to be environmentally friendly, the shop only provided metal straws and spoons.

"That's 'cause you fall into a deep sleep every time you come back from class," Kindaichi explained matter-of-factly. "Not even Goshiki can you wake you up—and believe me, he's _tried_." He snorted, faintly amused. "The only reason we're here now is because I promised to treat you."

Kunimi's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Goshiki, huh? Why not you or Yahaba?"

"Why're you asking?"

"No reason. It seems my high school friends just don't care about me." He jabbed his metal straw in the centre of his ice-cream. "I'm kidding," he added swiftly, before Kindaichi could even say anything. "How was... Sakusa-san? That's his name, right?"

"He's..." Kindaichi trailed off. _Eccentric. But dedicated._ "He's Sakusa-san. He's a little rough around the edges, but I think he means well."

"Huh. Well that's good then."

"I think he's also a germaphobe."

"Seriously?" Kunimi smirked. "I did a case study on germaphobia once. If you have it, you probably have some kind of OCD."

"Eh? For real? I guess he is really tidy," Kindaichi said reluctantly, mulling over the cleanliness of Sakusa's car.

"OCD doesn't necessarily mean tidy," Kunimi pointed out. "It's not like what television likes to depict it as."

"Did Dr. Nakamura tell you that?"

"No way. If I didn't know this basic shit, then there's no way he would've even looked twice at me." Kunimi's cheeks puffed out a little as his face flushed pink, clearly enjoying his sweet dessert. "We should come here more often."

"I'll be broke before the end of the term," Kindaichi shot back, his hand automatically reaching for his wallet, which he kept in his back pocket today. His bag was back in the dorm.

Kunimi clicked his tongue. "That's not very safe, you know. If you lose it, don't come crying to me."

"Like hell."

Though his head was lowered to sip his drink, Kunimi glanced up at Kindaichi with hooded eyes. There was something off about him today. "Hey. What's up with you? Normally, you'd be complaining ten times as much about my mooching off you."

Kindaichi sighed, frowning. "Dunno. Maybe I just don't feel like it today."

Kunimi leveled him with a stare, unwavering. "Did something happen last Sunday?" His friend's knee bumped against the underside of the table. "I'll take that as a _yes_. Take your time. I know that you see a lot of things people normally don't in your line of work." He ate a spoonful of ice-cream. "Or the work you plan to go into anyway..."

"What are you, my therapist?"

"Possibly. You never know what the future holds."

"Huh. I guess not. Alright, fine," Kindaichi sighed again, this time more heavily, "It turns out... Hanamaki-san is a suspect for Oikawa-san's murder." Looking more tired than Kunimi had seen him for a while, his friend met his gaze. "And I guess it just hit me then. Just... everything. Like, I know it wouldn't be easy, but... Things just started, and it's already overwhelming me. What if more people we know become suspects? Can we even trust the people we knew back then? The people we know now?" He palmed his face, groaning. "Fuck."

"That does sound heavy," Kunimi sympathized, mirroring his frown. _That can't be easy on anyone, let alone someone as sensitive as Kindaichi._ Something more concerning swam to the forefront of his mind, but he shook it off. _No. Calm down. I doubt he's finally..._ "But it's a truth we have to accept. Don't push it, though—it's something you have to let sink in on your own terms. If you ever need to talk about it more, I'm here. What else happened that day? If you're up to talking about it."

"Thanks, man. And what happened... We never found Hanamaki-san. He wasn't at the address that he used to live at, the one that was registered on the database." Kindaichi stared blankly at Kunimi's glass. "I still can't believe he has a criminal record."

"What was it for?"

"Forgery. He falsified receipts, apparently. It wasn't a long sentence. But yeah, we never found him. He's totally off the radar now. We did talk to someone, though. Semi Eita; he used to go to Shiratorizawa."

Kunimi blinked. "Wait, for real?" _Semi Eita..._ He was but a vague memory to Kunimi. A reserve setter and pinch server for the boy's volleyball team if he remembered correctly. He'd been a third year when they were first years. "Huh. Small world."

"Yeah. Nothing useful really came out of that interview, even if we did cross one suspect off the list. Although..." A new light entered his eyes, and Kindaichi straightened. He looked a little puzzled as he told Kunimi, "Semi-san said... He said that Ushijima never thought that Iwaizumi killed Oikawa. And that a lot of people thought the same thing."

"I see. Well, that's not weird or anything. Anyone who ever met the two wouldn't think that. Sure, they fought sometimes, but it was never serious. Though," Kunimi hesitated, "It could be interpreted that way. I bet that was just one of the things that the police used against him."

Kindaichi shrugged. "Who knows. But hey," he glanced out the window briefly, a wistful shadow in his eyes, "With all these reminders popping up all over the place... Do you remember Kageyama?"

"How could I not?" Kunimi ditched the straw and chugged the remainders of his dessert beverage before wiping his mouth with a napkin, which he then left scrunched up and shoved into the empty glass. "What about Kageyama? We haven't talked to him in years."

"Well," Kindaichi grasped for words, "I saw him on Sunday, too. At the clinic."

"He goes to Todai? I never noticed."

"I saw him a couple of times, but I never really thought anything of it. Until now." He paused, deliberating his next words. "Do you think he's still the same?"

"I doubt it," replied Kunimi, honestly. "People change. For better or for worse."

"Yeah, I thought so, too." Kindaichi smiled, the action a little lopsided. "He parts his hair in the middle now. Like you back in school."

Kunimi pulled a face. "Ew."

Laughter. "I knew you'd say that."

"Why would anyone want to part their hair in the middle in this day and age?"

"Dunno, why don't you ask him?"

"I—"

At that moment, Kindaichi's phone buzzed, and he hastily unlocked it. "Sorry. Oh, it's from Okazaki-san. Sakusa-san wants to see me at four-thirty." He started to stand. "You wanna go? I should get started on my first assignment. It's worth thirty percent."

"Sure." Kunimi yawned. "I could use a nap anyway, and Goshiki and Yahaba should still be out."

"That's right," Kindaichi was saying as they walked through campus, back to their east-facing dorms, "Goshiki's exercise and sports science classes begin today, don't they? But what's Yahaba doing?"

"On a date as far as I know."

The first thing Kunimi did when they entered their shared dorm was collapse face-first onto the bed. His breathing grew shallower within the first ten seconds of making contact with the bed sheets, and Kindaichi knew that he had fallen asleep. On the flip side, Kindaichi unplugged his laptop from the power-point next to their bunk bed and moved to kitchen island with some notebooks.

Time flew past, and he had only written the introduction and half of the first body paragraph by four o'clock. Letting out a grunt, he stretched, sighing in relief when he felt his back pop comfortably. _This should be enough for now_ — _I'll take a ten minute break, then get going._

Plugging back in his laptop and haphazardly placing all of his books on his bed for now, he leaped onto the couch in the tiny living space and turned on the television.

 _"_ — _you want to take the caramel as far as you can for that burnt, bitter taste so we can balance out the richness of the white chocolate,"_ a voice-over announced, the camera zooming in on steaming brown goop.

Kunimi stirred in his sleep, and Kindaichi lowered the volume.

 _Goshiki must've been the one who had the remote last,_ Kindaichi concluded. The camera switched so that a handsome man with black hair in a chef's outfit was shown, a slight smile on his face as he broke his spotty citrus meringue into shards.

 _"Wow!"_ said the hostess lady on the screen. _"That looks absolutely amazing—!"_

Kindaichi switched the channel to the afternoon news instead.

"Oi, I was watching that, you bastard."

"Geh!" Kindaichi whipped his head to the side to see Kunimi glowering at him, his cheeks puffed. "You're awake already?"

"I heard someone say 'caramel'."

"Of course you did."

Kunimi craned his neck some minutes later, trying to catch sight of the clock hanging in the adjacent kitchen. "You should get going, it's already ten past."

"Damn, already?" Kindaichi hurried over to his bottom bunk—he shared it with Goshiki, who slept above him—and grabbed his hoodie before deciding against it. _This is an impromptu meeting right? My blazer's still in the wash, so that's not an option..._ He looked down at what he was wearing—a smart white shirt and tan slacks. _Yeah, this'll be fine._ "Alright, see ya."

He was heading for the door when Kunimi shouted, "Wait!"

Kindaichi turned. "What?"

"Can you change the TV back to the cooking channel?"

"Do it yourself, bastard!"

The door slammed behind him, Kunimi snickering.

* * *

"Eh?"

Glancing up from her cup of coffee in the break room, Obata Kazue looked over to Shirabu, who had his phone out. "Mou, what's wrong, Shirabu-san?" Her red hair was tied back in a high ponytail with side bangs framing her heart-shaped face—she wore minimal makeup, and her lips were freshly slathered with pawpaw balm, the tube of chap-stick protruding from the breast pocket of her lab coat.

"Nothing," Shirabu sat down opposite her, brow lowering, "Just got a text from someone I haven't talked to in months."

Obata lifted a hand to her cheek, beaming. "Aww, really? That's so sweet that they're thinking of you. Is it a lover? Or a friend?"

"Friend," Shirabu replied curtly, his thumbs moving over the screen as he replied. "He was my upperclassman in high school." _What the hell does he want? Ugh, Semi..._ He didn't feel like thinking too much about him right now. "Obata-san, how's the blood samples going?"

"Oh, I've narrowed it down to about thirty or so people," Obata informed him, picking a hangnail. "After my break, I can probably get it down to under ten. Don't worry," she added as an afterthought, "If Sakusa-san gets mad at you, I'll take the fall." Cheekily, she put up her fists. "I'll tell him that he should try doing _our_ jobs for a change. Driving that fancy car of his around... Doesn't that piss you off?"

Shirabu scoffed. "Definitely. But as long as he does his job properly, he's okay. A one-hundred percent conviction rate isn't something to sniff at."

"Still! As the youngest prosecutor in Japan—and one of the most successful to boot—that guy is rolling in dough! I can't stand that! You _know_ I grew up poor in Miyagi's market district—I was _lucky_ to own a CRT television, and it wasn't even HDMI compatible!"

"You get so worked up about this every time."

"I have my reasons. I started working for below minimum wage when I was _ten_. It's not even _legal_."

His bowl-cut swished slightly as Shirabu glanced around, expression flat. "You sure you wanna be confessing that here? Go to church or something if you're gonna start spilling secrets."

She threw her hands up, almost knocking over her coffee. "Did I tell you about the time I could've won seven million yen on a reality TV show when I was eleven? Because I got offered but my _mom_ wouldn't let me go."

"Good riddance," Shirabu retorted. "You never know what goes on behind the scenes."

"Yeah, I guess. Well!" Obata stood, buzzing from her coffee. "Time to get back to work."

"We have five minutes left of our break." In his pocket, Shirabu's phone vibrated with a new message, but he ignored it.

"It's just five minutes. The sooner I get started," she lowered her voice, "the sooner we can catch the killer. Did you know he used to live in my prefecture? The guy that got framed? People wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. Even Noriko-san couldn't calm them down, and everybody was scared of her back then."

"Obata-san, the clock's ticking."

"Ah, right! Noriko-san always did tell me I talked too much." Humming happily, she skipped away, leaving Shirabu alone in the break room. "Maybe I should check the juvie records, too..."

 _Noriko-san?_ Shirabu took his own empty cup and Obata's ( _damn her_ ) to the sink. _That's the Chief Prosecutor's wife, if I remember._ He turned on the tap, wincing at the ear-piercing squeak of it. How suddenly aware he was of the weight of his phone didn't help matters. _It really is a small world, huh?_

* * *

Kindaichi groaned and pushed his hair back with one hand, frustrated. "Are you kidding?" he mumbled, looking at his phone. On the screen was an apologetic text from Okazaki, stating that she had meant to put five-thirty and not four-thirty. Accompanying the text was a cute emoji. He was already in front of the public prosecutor's office, having power-walked all the way from his dorm. _Guess that means I have an hour to kill._ He turned on his heel, contemplating. _Should I get a drink maybe? Nothing alcoholic, and no coffee either._

"Oi! What are you doin', huh, pal?"

 _Huh?_ Bemused, Kindaichi whipped around to see a scowling man sauntering toward him, his hands shoved rather aggressively in his pockets. He wore a green jacket, and his shaved head was covered by a red beanie. _Is this guy a thug?_ "I _work_ here," Kindaichi said shortly, narrowing his eyes in a glare and standing up straight. He was quite a bit taller than him, and used it to his advantage. _Ugh, let's just walk away..._

He was about to leave when the man's expression suddenly changed into something more welcoming. "Oh, you do, do ya?" Then he laughed, and Kindaichi could only stand there in disbelief. "Sorry about that, buddy! I thought you were a stalker."

"Wha— _excuse_ me? A _stalker_?"

"So you're one of those police guys, huh?" the man talked over him, far too friendly to be the street thug that Kindaichi had first pegged him as.

"Something like that, yes." Kindaichi took a small step backward from him. _A stalker? Where's this even coming from?_ He said as much, and the beanie guy seemed to finally realize how he must have come across.

Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his head. "I really am sorry. But it's for good reason." His eyes hardened. "I have good reason to believe that my wife's being stalked by some creep! But all I know about him is that he's a tall dude."

"Your wife?" Kindaichi glanced at the prosecutor's office. "Does she work in the building?"

"Yeah, part-time as a receptionist. Oh!" He perked up at the sight of something behind Kindaichi's shoulder. "Here she comes now. Kiyoko darling, I'm here to walk you home!"

 _Kiyoko? Kiyoko as in...?! No way...!_ Kindaichi felt something in his brain short-circuit as he watched the beautiful goddess of a woman who had greeted him on his first day walk down the steps with an elegance that few could emulate. _Shimizu-san?! This bald guy is Shimizu-san's_ husband _?! T-they're batting in completely different leagues!_

She kissed his cheek as he ran up to her like an overeager puppy. "Hi, Ryu."

"Kiyoko darling! You're okay."

"Ryu, I _just_ left the building. But thank you for coming, dear." Shimizu seemed to notice him. "Good afternoon, Kindaichi-san. Are you here to see Sakusa-san again? Miyuki-san should be manning the desk—she'll sign you in."

Kindaichi startled at being addressed. "Oh, um, yeah. Thanks, Shimizu-san, but my appointment is actually at five-thirty. I just thought I'd get here a bit early."

"A bit!" her husband parroted, flabbergasted. "Dude, that's in an _hour_!"

"Ryu," Shimizu scolded mildly. She addressed Kindaichi again, "This is my fiancé, Tanaka Ryuunosuke."

"Aw, I can introduce myself, darling."

 _Man, he's totally smitten with her._ Kindaichi couldn't help a smile. "Kindaichi Yuutarou," he introduced himself. "It's nice to meet you Tanaka-san. But I thought you said Shimizu-san was your wife...?"

Tanaka blushed deeply. "Almost! She practically is, we're getting married in three months! Right, darling?"

"That's right," Shimizu affirmed, lifting one dainty hand to flash her engagement ring.

"Oh. Well, congratulations, you two." Kindaichi started to backpedal. "I won't keep you guys any longer. You two have a nice evening, okay?"

"You too, bro," returned Tanaka, looping his arm around Shimizu's arm with a huge grin on his face.

 _A stalker, huh?_ Kindaichi thought once they were gone. _Shimizu-san's too beautiful for her own good. Tanaka-san is one lucky man. A stalker, though..._ That was rather alarming. He made a mental note to inform Sakusa when he saw him. But for now, Kindaichi merely checked his watch and then crossed the street to a takeaway store for some meat buns.

"One curry bun please," Kindaichi said to the man at the counter, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Then he froze. _Wait a second... Where's my wallet?!_

He remembered his conversation with Kunimi.

_"That's not very safe, you know. If you lose it, don't come crying to me."_

_"Like hell."_

_Shit... Ah, shit, shit, shit!_ A high-pitched keening noise escaped his throat as he despaired, the clerk giving him a strange look as he picked up a meat bun with a pair of tongs. _What was in there? My uni ID card, a credit card, my Suica card, some cash, a coupon for half-price pasta with free delivery...! Dammit, that coupon expires tomorrow! That was tonight's dinner, too; the guys are gonna kill me!_

"Excuse me, sir?" the worker prompted. "Are you paying with cash or card?"

"I... uh... Sorry, let me come back later, I kinda lost my—"

"Kindaichi?"

He turned.

Kageyama was holding out something very familiar to him.

"My wallet?" Kindaichi blinked once, then twice. Then he snatched it from the other man. "What the?! Why do you have it?!"

Kageyama frowned. "I didn't steal it. You dropped it outside Cafe Pezzo a few hours ago. One of the workers found it."

"Why do you have it then?"

"I heard the loud orange one talking about it and told the staff I knew you."

"Yeah, well... Barely!" _I can't believe they just gave it to him._

The clerk cleared his throat. "Now that you have your money back... Will that be cash or card, sir? We have Pasmo card payment, too, if you'd like."

"Cash," Kindaichi told him promptly, getting the appropriate amount of money out.

He had collected his meat bun and was prepared to leave when he remembered something. Or, rather, _someone_. Reluctantly, Kindaichi glanced backward to see Kageyama staring at him, looking a little lost. But before he could say anything, Kageyama's stomach grumbled. _Loudly_.

 _Dammit..._ Kindaichi grimaced. For some reason, Kageyama appeared a lot more innocent than he ever remembered him being. Memories of his middle school days swam to the forefront of his mind—Kageyama the tyrant, Kageyama the genius, Kageyama the irredeemable asshole—and were washed away by the sorry sight in front of him. For a long time, he had nursed a grudge. But now... It all seemed so far away. Sighing, Kindaichi said to the clerk, "Give me one more of the curry bun."

* * *

If Kindaichi could travel back in time, he would tell his younger self that he was having lunch with Kageyama just to fuck with him. Or maybe not—even now, Kindaichi remained a little wary of Kageyama.

_Honestly, though..._

Kindaichi tried not to stare at Kageyama chewing his meat bun, his cheeks puffed out like a hamster and his eyes wide and sparkling with gratitude. He looked away to the side, smirking a little nervously.

_What was I even worried about?_

"So," Kindaichi started. "How have you been? I haven't talked to you in years, dude."

Kageyama took another bite before swallowing. "I'm fine."

 _What a dry response._ "What are you studying?"

"Business."

"Business?" echoed Kindaichi. "Huh. Never thought I'd hear the day..." _Kageyama studying... and business to boot. Why isn't he doing volleyball?_ "Hey. You were some volleyball genius the last time I saw you. Why didn't you keep up with it? You could've gone pro."

Kageyama stopped chewing. Then he started again. He gulped down the food. "It just wasn't the right sport for me."

He sounded so empty—so _hollow_ —that a chill ran down Kindaichi's spine. _Geez, what happened to him? I don't remember seeing him playing in second or third year either... He quit after first year? But why? The old Kageyama..._

_"Move faster!"_

_"You're so slow!"_

_"You could've gotten that!"_

_"Faster!"_

_He would've hated this one for sure._ Feeling like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs, the food grew bland in Kindaichi's mouth.

"What about you?" Kageyama asked abruptly. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm in law school. Studying for my Juris Doctor."

He titled his head, curious. "You're gonna be a lawyer?"

 _Or a prosecutor. At this point, I'm not even sure myself._ "Yeah," Kindaichi said for ease of explaining things to him. "It's the lawyer life for me."

Kageyama ate the last bite of his curry bun. "Um... Is this because of what happened with Oikawa-san?"

The table rocked as Kindaichi's knee bounced against the underside of it, much like what he had done with Kunimi earlier this morning. "It's..." _It's complicated,_ he wanted to say. But was it really? He had never thought of it before, but... Just how badly had he been shaken back then? Even now, he could still feel the aftershocks. Briefly, he wondered if anyone else felt like this. It was likely, but hard to tell. Kunimi and Yahaba seemed mostly the same—there was nothing off about either of them that he could perceive. Maybe Kunimi slept like a bear during hibernation most of the time, but he'd always been like that. "Something like that," he mustered in the end. "But since you asked that, why did you quit volleyball, huh? Was it because of Oikawa, too?"

Kageyama dropped his gaze. "Not exactly."

"I see." Maybe his heart sank a little, or maybe it didn't. Kindaichi checked his phone for the time. It was fifteen past five. "I should go. I'll see you around, bro."

"Yeah," Kageyama said as he left, a lonely figure in the small shop. "See you."

* * *

"I'm here," Kindaichi announced as soon as he stepped inside the living space of Sakusa's office. Okazaki was probably in her work space, the door to which was on the left side of the common room. Sakusa's door was on the right. _It feels weird not seeing her. Normally, she's spraying disinfectant on the curtains or something..._

Surprisingly, it was Sakusa's door that opened first. "Kindaichi," he said in lieu of greeting, carrying a manila folder and sounding more urgent than Kindaichi had ever heard him. "The results for the blood traces on the note came back."

Kindaichi couldn't even get a word in when Sakusa practically shoved the folder to his chest. Perplexed, he opened it up, hearing water roaring around his ears before the world around him faded away into nothingness as he read the file he held.

"The closest match," Kindaichi muttered, hands shaking. "The closest match is—"

"Right there," Sakusa finished brusquely.

**MATCH: Kageyama Tobio**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And that's a wrap B)
> 
> Here's a semi-serious announcement, though:
> 
> I would love it if people reading this and enjoying it would share it! Like, on Tumblr or something, maybe? I'm boomer as hell, and really bad at using Tumblr, I don't have an account and can barely navigate it without bursting into tears. It doesn't have to be on Tumblr, that was just an example. But yes! If you like it, please spread the word :D


	5. The Tale of Kageyama (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama and Sakusa talk about what happened in the past.

**April 12th, 2018**

"Here you go."

Sakusa looked down at the manila folder that Shirabu had given him. "Took you a while," he remarked, glancing up once more when he heard Shirabu scoff. "Don't tell me you're losing your touch."

"Do you have any concept of gratitude?" Shirabu crossed his arms.

"I never said I wasn't grateful, but I don't appreciate the delay."

"Yeah, well. We wouldn't have found him if Obata didn't think to check the juvie records. Not to mention that we have actual, official business to work on."

 _A youth offender?_ Curiosity piqued, he opened the file. The mugshot of a teenage boy was the first sight that greeted him, followed by his name in all bold. There were dark circles around his eyes, and his bangs covered his brows. He must have been fifteen or sixteen when the photo was taken. Sakusa skimmed the file. At age fifteen, the boy had dropped out of school and run away from home. At first glance, it was the typical story of society's gutter trash in the making. "Thank you," Sakusa said abruptly, closing it. When Shirabu said nothing, he ventured, "Did you know this boy?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I knew _about_ him, but... never personally. But my senpai in volleyball told me once... He said that Kageyama Tobio was Oikawa's protégé."

"I see." _A_ _protégé..._ "Were they very close?"

"I don't really know, but there were rumors of bad blood between the two. They faded out, though. No surprise there. Oikawa became a household name in the volleyball circuit, and Kageyama's name... was lost."

* * *

Sakusa couldn't look away as Kindaichi stood hunched before him, utterly defeated by a simple manila folder. _Idiot,_ one part of him wanted to say. _You're going to be dealing with a lot more of this shit in the future. So what if it's someone you know?_ _Get used to it, or it'll eat you alive._ But another part of him pitied the man too much to say a word. They weren't exactly close, but Kindaichi had become something more than a faceless intern over the past week. Frustration bubbled in his chest. He was quite possibly the _worst_ kind of person to be around in these scenarios, too. Too emotionally driven and sensitive, Kindaichi was without the same extent of the cold, pragmatic logic—a trait which needed to be dominant in this line of work.

"No," Kindaichi bleated. "This—this can't be—!" He choked on his words just as Okazaki emerged from her room, concerned.

"Sakusa-san, Kindaichi-san, is everything alright?"

"We're fine," Sakusa answered. "Leave us." Then he reconsidered. "On second thought, make us some tea."

Okazaki smiled. "Of course. What would you two like?"

Sakusa peered at Kindaichi, but the younger man wasn't in a state to answer. "Green tea for him, and peppermint for me."

"Coming right up." Humming a tune, Okazaki set to work in the kitchenette.

In the meantime, Sakusa sat down on the armchair, gesturing Kindaichi to do the same. The intern obeyed silently, eyes never leaving the contents of the file as he slumped into the couch. Sighing, Sakusa said, "Put that down. We can look at that later." He didn't move. "Kindaichi!"

That seemed to snap him out of his trance. Blankly, Kindaichi stared up at him. "What?"

" _Put the folder down_."

Eyes still hauntingly vacant, Kindaichi tossed the folder on the coffee table.

Questions circled in Sakusa's mind. _Who is he to you? How do you know him? When you knew him, did he exhibit any concerning behavior? How did he treat small animals and children?_ "How are you?"

The smallest light flickered in those empty windows. Kindaichi tilted his head, looking bemused. "What?"

"Is that all you know how to say?"

That got a laugh out of him. It was a weak one, but it would do. "I've been better."

"And your classes? How are you finding them?"

"They're fine, but look," Kindaichi said, almost pleadingly, "about Kageyama—"

"Oops, look out," Okazaki warned as she squeezed through the gap between the couch and the armchair, carrying their cups of tea on a tray. She placed it on the coffee table. "Enjoy, gentlemen."

Once she was gone, Sakusa pulled his mask down, picked up his peppermint tea—discerned from the scent—and brought it up to his lips without prompting, the tension easing out of his features as he did so. Kindaichi was more reluctant, simply holding the warm cup in his hands. "You should drink it hot," Sakusa told him after taking a sip of his own tea. When Kindaichi still didn't make any move to drink it, he added, "Green tea has a soothing effect, and helps with blood circulation." _He's gotten so pale._ "I won't talk to you about Kageyama until you're calm enough to talk properly."

Kindaichi nodded, and took a hesitant sip.

For a while, they simply sat there in silence. Okazaki had pulled the curtains aside and rolled up the blinds today, allowing for golden sunlight to flood in through the only window in the room. There was a clock in the room that ran perfectly fine, but it made no ticking noise.

Gradually, Kindaichi calmed. Color returned to his cheeks, and his posture became more relaxed, the man sinking further into the plush couch. He started to reach for the folder again, but then stilled and sat back once more. "What's gonna happen to him?" he asked so quietly that Sakusa barely heard.

"I'll pull him in for questioning," Sakusa replied. "As of now, we don't have enough evidence to reopen the case. But if we can squeeze a confession out of him..."

"You're going to arrest him?"

"No. Not yet. I'd rather get him to come to us willingly first." He put down his cup on the table. "Where did you last see him?"

"Maybe half an hour ago, actually." He started to stand. "At the meat bun shop across the street. Maybe he's still there!"

"Do you have his number?"

"I... No, I don't."

"Okazaki!" Sakusa called as he stood, and the door to her makeshift office opened immediately.

"Yessir," she greeted.

"Escort Kindaichi-san to the station," he ordered, ignoring Kindaichi's protests. "I'm going to find Kageyama Tobio."

"But sir!" Kindaichi argued, moving in front of him. "You _have_ to take me! I _know_ him. Kageyama..." He swallowed, as if he were admitting a bitter truth. "Kageyama used to be my frie—"

"Exactly!" Sakusa snapped irritably, sidestepping him. "And until you can get over that, I don't even want to let you _talk_ him."

Okazaki spared Kindaichi a sympathetic look, but otherwise stayed silent. As mouthy as she could get sometimes, even she knew better than to interfere.

"Look after him," was the last thing Sakusa said before he disappeared down the hall.

* * *

The main building of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department boasted eighteen stories. It was inside the lobby where Kindaichi sat with Okazaki, gaze lazily following whoever came in and out of the building. He wasn't sure how long they'd been here, but it felt like it'd been years.

Many of the passersby seemed to recognize Okazaki. They all said hello to her, greeting her like they would greet a superior. Okazaki would wave back with a smile. The next to come by was a man with broad shoulders and square jaw, his dark hair cropped short. To Kindaichi, his face was quite common, yet somehow familiar.

"Oh, Sawamura-san," Okazaki gushed, a far cry from her polite reaction to the other officers going past. "If I'd known we'd run into each other like this today, I would've worn more makeup."

The officer, Sawamura, chuckled. He was carrying a plastic bag filled with cup noodles. "You look fine, Okazaki-san. I haven't seen you down here for a while."

"Mm. Well, there's been some things happening recently. Depending on today goes, you might find out about it sooner or later." She giggled into her hand, eyes landing on the plastic bag. "Working late tonight?"

"Yep." Sawamura lifted the bag. "The guys all made me go out and grab some." He huffed. "Something about promotion traditions."

"Promotion? Oh! Congratulations, Sawamura-san! What rank are you now?"

"Inspector."

"Wow, that's amazing!"

 _Sawamura?_ Kindaichi thought. He recalled Sakusa mentioning the name once a few days ago, when they'd gone to see Semi. But it ran deeper than that—Sawamura... He was also—

"Hello," Sawamura said to him. "Are you Sakusa-san's new intern? I'm Inspector Sawamura Daichi."

"Ah. I'm Kindaichi Yuutarou. Nice to meet you, Sawamura-san." Kindaichi paused. "This isn't the first time we've met."

"Right?" Sawamura— _Daichi_ , Kindaichi corrected in his head; it was much easier to remember—smiled. "I was thinking the same thing. You used to play for Seijoh, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and you played for Karasuno, right?" For the first time since his argument with Sakusa, Kindaichi managed to smile.

"That's right." Daichi looked down at his watch. "Sorry, but I can't talk right now, my break's almost over. But it was nice seeing you again, Kindaichi-san. You too, Okazaki-san."

When Daichi had disappeared into the elevator, Okazaki turned to Kindaichi with a sly grin on her face. "Isn't he a hunk?" she said, wasting no time. "I've got a few years on him, but that's certainly no issue." She fished out a makeup mirror from her purse, puckering her lips as she slathered some lipstick on. "Do you think he's interested?" Okazaki asked Kindaichi, a little anxiously.

"Uh..." If he were being honest with himself, it hadn't come across that way to him at all. From first impressions, Kindaichi could tell that Daichi was a man married to his work, dedicated to helping people in need. He thought it was admirable, actually. "Maybe?"

Okazaki fanned herself. "I sure hope so. Ah!" She straightened when she saw Sakusa coming through the doors, a tall man shuffling behind him. "Sir, you're here!"

Kindaichi stood up hastily, only to falter when he saw Kageyama's stoic expression. The man had his hood over his head, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. He looked surprisingly like some sort of juvenile delinquent, and it made Kindaichi's stomach turn.

He didn't know why, but Sakusa didn't stop to greet either of them, instead walking past like he had never seen them before. Okazaki seemed perfectly fine with it, as if she were used to dealing with him like this. Kageyama continued to tail him, slightly hunched.

 _Wait,_ Kindaichi wanted to call out after them, _Don't go, please. Kageyama,_ he wanted to ask, _You didn't really do it, right?_ The only thing that stopped him was Sakusa's stern gaze and the weight of Okazaki's slender hand on his shoulder. Exhaling sharply, he sat back down, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

"Here."

Kindaichi's lids lifted for him to see Okazaki's outstretched hand, a piece of mint candy sitting in her palm. Wordlessly, he took it, pinching the ends of wrapper and twisting it absently. "What if he really did kill Oikawa-san?" he murmured.

Okazaki didn't waver. "Then it is what it is. Don't worry. Sakusa-san would never let an innocent man go to jail."

"You sure have a lot of faith in him." He unwrapped the sweet and popped it in his mouth, scrunching up the paper in one hand.

"Of course. After all, he saved me from a lifetime behind bars."

 _Sakusa did?_ Kindaichi blinked at her in surprise.

"I know he can be harsh," Okazaki continued. "But he is a man who has seen the ugliest sides of our society. Our justice system. And despite all that," a soft smile quirked her painted lips up, "he still tries so hard. To make this world a better place for us to live in. Maybe, for so many of us, it's a small difference in the end... But for some, it's _everything_. The wronged. The innocent. He wants to help them all."

The candy turned to stone in his mouth, and the sugar to sand. _The wronged. The innocent._ Her words repeated in his brain, and his ears burned with the redness of humility. An image of Iwaizumi—hunched, beaten, abused—conjured itself in his mind, and he felt his chest squeeze. Sighing, Kindaichi buried his face in his hands, feeling a headache oncoming. He'd have to pick up some headache medicine from the drugstore on the way home.

"There aren't many men like him in the world," she finished. "He's bossy, irritable, and a bit obsessed with cleanliness. But at the end of the day, I feel lucky to be working for him." Okazaki patted his back. "Please don't worry about your friend. He's in good hands."

* * *

It was a windy evening when Kageyama met a man in a suit. His blazer waved in the breeze, and his hands were tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. There was a pin in the middle of his black tie, and he wore a white mask around his face. He made to step around him, but then the man spoke.

"Kageyama Tobio. Can I stop you for a bit?"

Curious, but wary all the same, he halted and glanced up— _up? The man was impressively tall_ —at him. _He knows my name, too. Who is this guy?_ "Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"No," the man replied smoothly. "But I'd like you ask you a few questions. My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi."

 _Sakusa Kiyoomi?_ The name sparked a memory. "From Itachiyama?"

At that, Sakusa stilled almost eerily. "Yes," he said curtly. "From Itachiyama. I'll be blunt with you. I need you to come with me to the police station. You're not under arrest—there are just a few things we need to know, and we believe you can help us."

"What is this about?"

"Oikawa Tooru."

* * *

It was not the first time Kageyama Tobio had been in the interrogation room, Sakusa wagered, his thoughts confirmed as he read the details on Kageyama's offence. Inside, Kageyama was sitting at the table, waiting for Sakusa to come in. His facial expression betrayed nothing but an perturbed confusion. Then, without further ado, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The window was tinted on the inside, so that they would not be able to see anyone out in the hall.

"You said this was about Oikawa-san?" Kageyama spoke up.

"I'll be the one asking the questions," reminded Sakusa, penning something down on a piece of paper. It was the job normally given to an intern or assistant prosecutor, but Kindaichi wasn't in the right state of mind to be here right now. "You dropped out of high school in February 2013, correct?"

"Yes."

Sakusa flipped through his file. "And returned to Karasuno High to finish your third year upon completing the National Youth Offender's Rehabilitation Program." He cocked a brow. "Amazing, really. Not many people are lucky enough to be sponsored into university." He smiled. "Congratulations, Kageyama-san."

Uneasily, Kageyama asked, "What does this have to do with Oikawa-san?"

"I'm getting there." The sound of pages flapping. "On December fifth, 2012—"

"December fifth?" Kageyama echoed, and Sakusa looked up from his file to glare at him, not quite appreciating the interruption. "That was the day," his jaw clenched, "my sister went missing."

 _What? His sister?_ Scowling, Sakusa skimmed the report again, but there was zero mention of his relatives. _What incompetent buffoon compiled this?_ Deciding that this information was virtually useless, his pushed the file aside. "Kageyama-san," he started, taking in the open distress on his features. _He's so vulnerable all of a sudden. He's ready to talk._ "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

* * *

**March 17th, 2012**

"I'm home," Kageyama announced to an empty house, noting the lack of shoes at the entrance-way. His mother worked night shifts, and would not be back until morning, while his father frequently traveled overseas for business. Even so, he was unused to the quiet. Maybe it was foolish of him—to continue to expect a greeting from the dead.

His grandfather's funeral had been last Saturday.

Toeing his shoes off, Kageyama padded to the kitchen and picked up an apple from the nigh empty fruit basket. He would have to go out shopping for groceries later tonight. But for now, he merely snacked alone, sitting drooped on the kitchen chair as he bit into the fruit. Occasionally, the juices would run down his chin, and he would wipe them away with his sweat-stained volleyball jersey.

Once he had finished the apple, he washed his hands and headed upstairs for a shower.

And then, after that, he slipped on a white shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts and collapsed on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His hair was still wet, and he had put a towel on his pillow to take care of that.

_"Quit messing around!" Kindaichi shouted at him, eyebrow twitching. He had barely managed to tip Kageyama's set over the net. Kunimi had looked back over his shoulder, his eyes cold and unfriendly. "Your tosses are completely unreasonable! There's no point in it if we can't hit the ball!"_

Breathing out, Kageyama lifted his arm over his eyes to block out the bright ceiling light. But instead of darkness, all he could see were the angry, disappointed faces of his teammates.

 _Messing around?_ he thought, feeling a bitter resentment encase his heart. _Who says I was messing around? We were supposed to go to nationals...! I told him... I told grandpa that I would!_

_"Move faster!" Kageyama retorted, his patience worn thin and his voice hoarse from screaming. "Jump higher! Match the speed and height of my tosses! If you want to win, then do it!"_

_They said nothing. Merely stared back at him in defeated silence._

_Before he knew it, it was the opponent's set point of the first set. The ball floating toward him, Kageyama lifted his hands and tossed backward, where someone should've been waiting. He whipped around, expecting the tall form of Kindaichi._

_The ball hit the floor._

_He didn't know how many plays they had missed that day, but this one hadn't been a miss._

_"Kageyama," the voice of his coach sounded in the background. "Go sit on the bench already."_

_Rejection._

He moved his arm aside, blinking slowly. _I'm sorry, grandpa. I... No,_ we _... We didn't make it._

Outside, twilight was beginning the gather, the sun dipping over the horizon as it bid the day goodbye. By now, his hair was almost dry, and he flopped his towel over his head and headed downstairs to collect the mail. The results of Shiratorizawa's entrance exam as well as an acceptance or rejection letter would have arrived by now.

He waited until he was in the kitchen to open the mail, putting the ones for his parents aside.

With dull eyes, he ignored the copy of the exam and instead went for the accompanying letter. With just one piece of paper, it would be decided if he played with superstars like Ushijima or not.

_Mr. Kageyama Tobio,_

_We are sorry to inform you that..._

Kageyama scrunched it up and threw it into the recycling bin. _It's okay,_ he told himself. _There are other options. You did well,_ he added desperately, trying to ignore how he kept seeing their disappointed eyes. Kindaichi's. Kunimi's. Even his grandfather's. His shoulders started to shake. _Everything will be okay,_ he coached himself as tears sprung to his eyes, because there was no one here to do it for him.

Alone in his kitchen, he began to cry.

* * *

**March 28th, 2012**

Graduation was looking to be a gloomy affair for him. Around Kageyama, everybody whooped and celebrated. Kunimi and Kindaichi stood taking pictures with their families, various aunties and uncles having tagged along to see their nephews graduate. Both of them were smiling and laughing as they shared stories and memories of junior high. The only one who didn't seem to be happy at all about anything was Kindaichi's mother, who loudly complained to Kunimi's mother about her son's grades.

Kageyama didn't know what she was unhappy about. Kindaichi had scored consistent eighties in all of his classes, while Kageyama had failed most of them. Not really sure what to do, he merely stood under a cherry blossom tree, clutching his diploma close to his chest.

A group of giggling gossip girls carrying flowers and presents sashayed past, led by a silver-haired half-Korean girl known as Shiroma Yubin. They were after some poor sod's uniform button, probably.

It was odd, really. Kageyama knew most of the people in his cohort, but they all felt like strangers to him. He'd never held proper conversation with most of them, and the ones that he had talked to...

He stared at Kindaichi and Kunimi's families, then turned away.

It wasn't not the first time he had realized this, but—

_I'm alone._

How long had been alone? He wasn't sure. Maybe he was starting to get used to it now.

Head hanging, he headed toward the gate, ready to go home. He just wanted to sleep for the rest of the day. If he never woke up, maybe that would be okay.

Then a voice called his name.

"Tobiooooo!" Kageyama's eyes widened as a familiar figure ran up to him. He had never seen her so unkempt before, but he didn't care. Kageyama Miwa screeched to a halt in front of him. Twenty-one years old, she had moved out from their family home and had an apartment in Tokyo. Sighing, she recomposed herself, running her fingers through her hair to try and tame it a little. "I'm so sorry, Tobio," she said ruefully. "Is the ceremony over?'

Kageyama nodded. "Yeah, it's over."

She said a bad word, then groaned into her hands. "I'm so sorry." Then she looked around, frowning. "Mom and dad didn't come?"

"No."

"Damn them," Miwa muttered, passing her hand through her hair again. It was a nervous habit of hers. "Come on, Tobio—I'm taking you out to eat. Is there any particular place you like?"

The only place he could think of was the ramen restaurant that Oikawa used to take the team to when he was still a first year. So he shook his head.

"Right, well," Miwa took him by the hand, her heels clicking on the concrete as she walked him to her car, "I know a place which serves good curry. I used to go there with my friends in high school."

"Okay."

Eyes growing sad, she started the car. His sister had never been an expressive person, but she seemed a lot more lively today for some reason. "Tobio. What's wrong?"

 _Everything._ "Nothing."

"Tobio," she said, stern. "You can't lie to me. Also, put on your seat belt."

Petulantly, he crossed his arms.

" _Tobio_."

"Fine!" he snapped. "I didn't get into Shiratorizawa. I failed the entrance exam."

"Tobio, seat belt." He obeyed, and she reversed out of the school parking lot and onto the main road. "It's okay if you didn't get in," she appeased as her small car rolled down the road. "What about your second choice? Aobajosai?"

"No," Kageyama said immediately, remembering how he had ripped up Aobajosai's sports scholarship offer with only the disappointment of his teammates in mind. "Not there. I'm going to Karasuno."

"Well, there, see? Things work out." Kageyama fell silent. Biting her lip, Miwa glanced at his sullen side profile. "Hey... You don't have to tell me everything. I know it's hard. I know how much grandpa meant to you. But you know—we both know—that he'd be proud of you."

 _Would he?_ Kageyama shot back in his head.

"We're here," Miwa announced fifteen minutes later, driving into the parking lot. She found a space right by the entrance. A tall woman and wearing heels, she actually had to duck to avoid hitting her head as she entered the diner, Kageyama following behind. His head almost skimmed the top of the doorway. "Order anything you like," she invited him once they were seated.

"I'll take the pork katsu curry."

Miwa smiled. "I _knew_ you would choose that."

He scowled when she reached over the table to ruffle his hair, but his heart felt lighter than before. With eight years between them, they had never been particularly close as siblings. And when she had moved away to pursue a career in hair and makeup, he hadn't chased after her, whining and begging for her to stay like some younger brothers would. But even so, she had come all the way from Tokyo—or at least tried to come—to his graduation, an event that his parents hadn't even bothered to make time for.

Miwa was _here_.

At least now, he wasn't alone anymore.

"Miwa," Kageyama began, a shadow of a smile on his face. "Thank you."

She blinked in surprise, as if she hadn't been expecting that. Then she grinned in return. "You're welcome, bro."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Kageyama backstory is here. Let me warn you now that this story can be a bit backstory heavy at times. Kageyama is not the only character whose backstory will be told. Other examples of characters with a backstory spanning more than one chapter are Atsumu and Goshiki.
> 
> If you like this, please share =D


	6. The Tale of Kageyama (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama's first year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Tsukishima is a dick.

**April 2nd, 2012**

Before a single person had even stepped foot in Gymnasium 2 today, Kageyama was already there, punching serve after serve over the net. Occasionally, he would peer over his shoulder expectantly. _Where are the others?_ he wondered. _Don't tell me I'm the only first year who signed up?_ Or maybe the other new kids just hadn't bothered coming this early. _Tch. They should take things more seriously..._

Then, twenty minutes later, the door slid open, and three upperclassmen sauntered in.

"... I betcha he's a smart-mouth little brat, though," one of them—he had his head shaved—was saying, his hands shoved into his back pockets.

"Oh, c'mon," the dark-haired boy in the middle scoffed. "Stop trying to intimidate everybody."

"I-I'm not tryin' to intimidate nobody! I swear!"

Kageyama straightened to greet his upperclassmen. "Good afternoon!"

The boy in the middle smiled, his silver-haired friend grinning as well. "Yo. You're Kageyama, right?"

He nodded. "Yessir!"

"Good to have you!"

They spent the next ten or so minutes getting acquainted. At one point, the principal came in and had a few words with the captain—Sawamura Daichi—about the importance of doing well in competitions this year. Judging from the mildly exasperated look on his face, it was not Daichi's first time hearing this spiel.

"I'll be telling your year adviser the same thing as well," the principal finished before leaving.

Overall, it was a decent start to his new life in Karasuno.

It was unfortunate that all good things had to come to an end.

* * *

**April 5th, 2012**

The other two first years joining the team didn't arrive until Thursday. Their apparent lack of commitment—in Kageyama's eyes—was already enough to irritate him somewhat.

Their names were Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi.

And it wasn't until they were alone in the club room—the third and second years somewhere else—that Tsukishima began to needle him.

"I've heard of you," the blond beanstalk said nonchalantly as he changed out of his sports uniform. He turned to meet Kageyama's gaze, smirking slightly. "They call you the King of the Court, don't they?"

 _What?_ Kageyama faltered, merely staring at his uniform shirt.

_"He's the King of the Court!" Kindaichi declared._

_"A dictator and a tyrant," said Kunimi._

_"Kageyama, go sit on the bench already," the coach sighed._

_Their backs were turned._

Kageyama's lip curled and he peered up at the other first year, snarling, "Don't you _ever_ call me that—!"

"Oho!" Tsukishima laughed lightly. "So it's true then? The rumor that says you get pissed off by that name... What's an _elite_ like you doing stuck at Karasuno?"

A snicker from Yamaguchi. "Nice one, Tsukki."

"What's so bad about it anyway?" continued Tsukishima, slipping his uniform blazer on. "Kings are cool, aren't they? I think it's the perfect nickname for you, Your Majesty."

 _This bastard...!_ Jaw clenching, Kageyama shot him his most terrifying glare, but Tsukishima seemed mostly unmoved by the hostile display. "What're you trying to do?"

Tsukishima didn't answer immediately, buttoning his blazer up first. Then, in two long strides, he reached Kageyama and looked right down at him. "I watched that prefectural qualifier game last year." He tilted his head almost innocently. "I'm surprised the other guys put up with your self-centered setting like that! I wouldn't. Oh, wait!" Smirk growing wider, he mused, "I remember now. Right, right. It was because they _couldn't_ that things turned out the way they did."

_Their backs were turned._

_His grandfather's silhouette flickered._

_Why were they always turned?_

Kageyama's dug his nails into his palm as he balled his hand into a fist. _When I put the ball up...!_

"Whoever raised you must be quite disappointed," Tsukishima's voice was like crashing tides, "Seeing how they raised a _tyrant_."

His grandfather's kind face flashed before him, and something _snapped_.

 _Who's stopping you?_ a nasally little voice whispered in his ear. _Will you let him talk to you like that?_

White noise enveloped him.

And Kageyama grabbed Tsukishima by the collar and slammed him against the lockers. " _Say that again_. Say that again, _you fucking bastard!_ "

Eyes wide in surprise, Tsukishima tried to respond, but Kageyama only tightened his grip, pressing his knuckles against his neck.

"Stop!" Yamaguchi started shouting, fear making his voice tremble. "Let go of him, you're choking him!"

 _Choking him?_ Horrified, Kageyama released him stepping back and almost tripping on a stray jumper.

"Geez," rasped Tsukishima, peering up at him in a way that Kageyama had never seen before. Pure, undisguised disgust and spite. "You fucking _psychopath_. Shit, you're more unhinged than I thought..." Shaking a little, he stood back to his full height, shouldering Kageyama out of the way. "Come on, Yamaguchi. We're going home."

 _Wait_ , Kageyama wanted to call after them. "I didn't mean to—"

The door slammed shut.

* * *

**April 6th, 2012**

As Kageyama expected, the third years caught wind of last night's confrontation. As soon as he entered the gym, the atmosphere shifted from jolly and welcoming to something frosty and unfriendly.

"Kageyama, you're here," Daichi said, a little gruffly. Beside him were Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, both of them glaring daggers at him. "Care to explain to me what happened last night?"

"I told you what happened," Tsukishima interrupted impatiently. "He—"

"I'm asking _Kageyama_."

Glowering at the floor, Tsukishima relented.

"Well?" Daichi prompted seriously when Kageyama didn't answer. "I'm waiting."

"... Sorry," Kageyama bit out.

"What was that?"

"I said I'm sorry!" he snapped. "I lost my temper, and..."

"Nearly killed me," Tsukishima supplied dryly, rubbing his neck. "Wow, what an excellent excuse. Captain, what happens to those who attack their teammates?"

Daichi considered them. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled sharply. " _Normally_ , it's an immediate expulsion from the team. However," he added before Tsukishima could argue, "I don't fully believe that that's _all_ that transpired last night."

"So you're just going to let him get away with it—"

"Kageyama," Daichi ignored Tsukishima's outburst, "As long as I'm still around... You'll be forbidden from playing setter. No arguments."

"What?!"

Just like that, the first cracks began to appear across the expanse of his world.

* * *

**April, 2012**

It took a few days of Kageyama searching up and down around the club room for his socks and shoes before he realized that someone had been hiding his things. For what, he didn't know, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who was behind the pranks.

"Forgotten your shoes again, King?" Tsukishima snarked as he did his shoelaces. "I didn't realize you were so absentminded."

"You should take better care of your things," Yamaguchi told him, unable to fight off an imperious smile. It didn't really fit right on his face, Kageyama thought.

"Where did you put them?" Kageyama demanded.

Tsukishima gave him a droll look. "I've got no idea what you're talking about."

With that, he and Yamaguchi left the club room, the latter snickering under his breath.

Unable to find his shoes or socks, Kageyama arrived to practice barefoot.

"Bahaha!" Tanaka howled, pointing at him. "Hey, bro, you're here for volleyball practice, not hunting yabbies!"

"Kageyama, you're late," Daichi said sternly. "And why aren't you dressed appropriately?"

Sugawara didn't say anything, giving Kageyama's appearance a curious look.

"I know we've forbidden you from playing setter," went on Daichi, sighing. "But that doesn't mean you can start doing things like this to act out. Go back to the club room and find your shoes and socks."

Kageyama shifted awkwardly. "I can't find them."

Another sigh. "Does anyone have extra shoes and socks?"

Ennoshita didn't have socks, but he lent Kageyama a pair of sneakers for him to wear. By the end of the practice, the back of Kageyama's ankles had been rubbed raw by the coarse material of the shoes. They stung, and it was a relief to finally get them off that night at the club room.

"Here." Kageyama handed Ennoshita his shoes back.

"Oh, thanks." The older boy accepted them. "Don't your feet hurt? When I still wore these, they gave me blisters."

"No, they were fine."

"Well, if you say so. Just remember to bring your stuff next time, or Daichi will really get mad."

In the corner, Tsukishima chuckled. "Even madder than today? I wouldn't want to see that. You really do need to be more careful, Kageyama-san."

 _'Kageyama-san',_ he repeated in his head. _I'm only 'Kageyama-san' when the others are around. When it's just us and Yamaguchi, it's always 'King' or 'Your Majesty'._ _It's not my fault,_ he wanted to say. _You're the one who hid my things!_ But he had no proof, and he knew that the others were already wary of him for attacking Tsukishima in the first place. "Oh, shut up," he retorted, starting to really feel the sting on his feet. "You damn cockroach."

Tsukishima cocked a brow.

"Kageyama," Ennoshita admonished, seemingly disbelieving at what had just transpired. "You shouldn't talk to him like that. You're already on thin ice as it is..."

The whole damn room was suffocating. All eyes were on him—from the first years to the second years minus Tanaka. Grunting, he sat up, grabbed his bag and jacket, and stormed out.

"Geez, someone's moody," was the last thing he heard before the door closed behind him.

* * *

"I'm home."

Once again, the house was empty.

It was starting to become an effort now, announcing his presence when there was no one to listen to him. His stomach grumbled, but all he wanted to do was to sleep and never have to see Tsukishima's face ever again.

* * *

Then came the practice match between Aobajosai and Karasuno. The rival school's demand for Kageyama to be put as the starting setter instead of Sugawara just isolated him further from his team—if it even could be called that. Sugawara insisted that it was fine, Karasuno not receiving many practice matches often, but the situation was still a hot topic in the club room.

"How can Suga-san possibly be okay with it?!" Tanaka asked nobody in particular as he aggressively shouldered off his jacket. "They're totally dissing us, those fancy-pants snobs at that fancy-pants school!"

"Kageyama's been banned as setter," Kinoshita reminded everyone. "Daichi and Takeda-sensei are still deciding whether to put him in or not."

"Well, what d'ya think?" Tanaka turned to Kageyama. "Think Daichi will letcha play?"

Kageyama who had been clipping his nails into a small wastebasket, paused. "I don't know," he said finally. "I'm not sure." Inwardly, he hoped Daichi would relent just this once—though he was technically a wing spiker, he was a setter at heart, and all of them knew that.

"I doubt it," Tsukishima interjected. "Our captain doesn't seem like the type to bend that easily."

Kageyama continued to clip his fingernails. _Who the hell asked you?_ While he could admit that the incident was primarily his fault, how Tsukishima pretended like he was a saint was rubbing on his nerves. Kageyama always shoved all of his things in his locker and locked it now, so that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi wouldn't be able to reach them.

When the day of the practice match finally came, Kageyama's stomach was doing flip-flops. Aobajosai Private High School... it was the school that most Kitagawa graduates attended, and he was certain that Kindaichi and Kunimi had followed Oikawa there.

And it was just his luck that one of the first people he bumped into at this godforsaken school was Kindaichi.

"Y'know," Tanaka said, pulling a face that Kageyama couldn't figure out the logistics to, "Underestimate us too much _and we'll pick you clean_."

Tsukishima smirked, light reflecting off his glasses. "Now, now, Tanaka-san. You shouldn't say mean things like that. See? Those _elite gentlemen_ are frightened now. The poor things."

Kindaichi and his teammate look visibly intimidated, but the former tried to scrummage for their dignity. "W-we aren't scared!"

Tanaka grinned smugly as he and Tsukishima relished in the discomfort of their rivals. "Yeah, you're right. I oughta wait until the game before I start pickin' on 'em!"

"Aha!" Daichi appeared around the corner just as Tsukishima whirled around and sauntered off somewhere else.

Kageyama's blue gaze followed him. _He's good at staying under the radar... No wonder nobody knows what he's been doing._

As Daichi pushed Tanaka away, Sugawara looking exasperated, Kageyama made to follow.

But Kindaichi's voice stopped him. "It's been a while... Your Majesty." He sneered a little. "I'm curious to see what kind of reign the King has going over at Karasuno."

His voice carried further than Kageyama would've liked, and four pairs of eyes turned to them.

Tanaka's. Furious.

Tsukishima's. Unfriendly.

Sugawara's. Wary.

Daichi's. Solemn.

They were waiting for his response—waiting for what he would say to this former teammate of his.

 _Kageyama in power?_ he could almost hear Tsukishima laugh. _That's a joke if I've ever heard one._

Perhaps it was just a trick of the eye, but Kageyama swore that he saw a fissure in the earth flicker between him and his teammates.

Because deep down, he knew...

That he was alone.

* * *

**November 14th, 2012**

The year had been long and hard for Kageyama, but now it was beginning to wane. Just a month ago, they had lost the qualifiers against Aobajosai—their third loss against the powerhouse school. Riding on the momentum of their victory, Aobajosai had taken out even the feared Shiratorizawa High and sailed onto a spot in the Spring Tournament.

 _It's over for them,_ Kageyama thought to himself as he watched the third years talk in the corner. _This was their last chance to go to Nationals..._ He tossed the ball in the air, setting to himself.

Months later, and he hadn't made a single friend in the team. He didn't mind. Or tried not to mind, at least. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima had come into the team as friends since grade school, and so Kageyama had absolutely no chance with befriending either of them. It wasn't like he _wanted_ to anyway. The only other first year on the team was the blonde manager, Yachi. Kageyama had tried speaking with her a couple of times, but she seemed to be very wary of him. As far as he knew, she only talked regularly to Yamaguchi and Shimizu, but it was still two more people than him.

Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita had been together since the beginning of high school, and their dynamic was too solid for Kageyama to break. The same went for the third years, too.

"Kageyama, can you show me your toss again?!" Nishinoya appeared in front of him, determined. "Hurry, while Daichi isn't looking!"

Nishinoya and Tanaka were practically joined at the hip, and though the former boy did try to bond with everyone, Kageyama got the impression that he wasn't too interested in him.

"Yeah, okay," Kageyama agreed, proceeding to demonstrate.

At least Tsukishima's bullying had eased out somewhat. He was still a jerk, but he mostly left Kageyama alone.

Slowly, it had become the norm for Kageyama to be alone. School wasn't a place to make friends and have fun—it never had been for him. School was just a place he went to every day because it was what he was supposed to do. Plus, there was volleyball to play.

It was supposed to have been an ordinary day today.

There was some mild excitement, knowing that Miwa would arrive tomorrow night to spend some weeks with him, but Kageyama thought that that would've been it.

* * *

**November 15th, 2012**

Then the morning of the fifteenth arrived, and Kageyama entered the gym to find everybody huddled in a corner with Takeda and Coach Ukai holding court. They looked more grim than Kageyama had ever seen them before.

Takeda spotted him coming in, and gestured for him to come and sit.

"Everyone," Takeda began once they were settled, a heavy atmosphere blanketing them. "What I'm about to say won't be easy to hear."

Some of them exchanged confused glances.

Perhaps it was hard for them to imagine what else could have gone wrong in their lives—after all, their chance at nationals with their current team had already slipped from their fingers.

Takeda took a deep breath. "Last night, Oikawa Tooru from Aobajosai passed away."

And Kageyama's world finally imploded. "What?" he blurted out. His voice sounded strange, even to himself.

"I'm sorry, but it's true," sighed Takeda. "I'll give you a moment to process all this."

Yachi burst into tears.

The rest of them merely sat in a shocked silence. Of course, their mortality hadn't even crossed their minds. Even Tsukishima had nothing to say about this, his face ghostly white as he stared at the floor.

Shimizu whispered soothing words to her junior, but even Kageyama could hear her barely holding it together from where he was sitting.

Then Daichi asked the question that they had all been wondering. "How?"

Takeda opened his mouth, but no words came out. Exhaling deeply, Coach Ukai answered in his stead, "His body was found in the river last night. The police are saying it's murder."

Finally, the crows broke their silence, and an uproar ensued.

"Murder?!"

"What the hell?!"

"How can this happen?!"

"Who killed him?!"

Yachi cried even harder, burying her face in her hands.

"QUIET!" bellowed Ukai. "I know this is a lot to take in. And I don't expect any of you to be okay at all. But let's take it in slowly. Please." He cast Yachi a sympathetic glance. "Do you want to go outside, Yachi-san?"

She didn't answer, merely continued to blubber. Shimizu raised an arm. "I'll take her to the nurse."

Takeda nodded, dismissing them.

Whatever the coaches said next, Kageyama didn't hear. It was if his whole life had flipped upside down, and water was rushing around his head, slowly drowning him. _Oikawa-san... is dead?_ The more he said it to himself, the more he couldn't believe his ears. _Oikawa-san..._ A chill ran down his spine, and Kageyama wrapped his jacket tighter around his body. _Was... murdered?_

When he went home that night, he made himself dinner and headed over to the living room. He switched on the television, his heart pounding. His dinner—a simple instant curry—grew cold, but Kageyama was fixated on the news report on the screen.

 _"Police have arrested the suspected killer,"_ the news anchor was saying, her mouth moving awfully slow to Kageyama. A picture of the suspect appeared on the television, his eyes censored out due to being a minor.

A bowl of curry hit the ground, staining the wooden floor.

_"The suspect is eighteen-year-old Iwaizumi Hajime..."_

The front door clicked open, and a voice called, "Tobio? Are you home already?"

Instantly, Kageyama shot to his feet, nearly slipping in the mess he had made, and ran toward the entrance-way. Miwa, in the middle of taking her shoes off, blinked in surprise.

"Tobio," she started, grunting when Kageyama dashed forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "Eh? Tobio, did you miss me that much? What's wrong?" Her hand palmed his head, and he relaxed slightly. In the backdrop, he could still hear the news report. "It's okay," Miwa told him, sounding perplexed. "I'm here now."

Yes—

Miwa was _here_.

* * *

**December 4th, 2012**

"I'm home!" Kageyama declared, taking his shoes off. Outside, it was already dark.

Miwa popped her head around the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Right on time, bro. The crackling pork just came out of the oven—I'll rest it for ten minutes. Go take a shower before you eat!"

After he showered and got dressed, he met Miwa in the kitchen for the dinner. A fat roast sat in the middle—a western recipe that Miwa had learned from one of her friends at the styling academy, or so she claimed.

"Seriously," she waved off his inquiries, "It was from a friend."

With how busy Miwa was, she could only visit him around twice a year. The first time this year had been at his graduation, when she had taken him out to eat. The second time was now. And although she would be leaving before Christmas rolled around, he still valued their time together.

"This is really good," Kageyama complimented through a mouthful of roast.

Miwa grinned. "Right? Here," she cut another slice for him, "You're a growing boy, eat some more."

Kageyama couldn't exactly remember when the last time he had eaten dinner with his entire family had been. But he remembered the warmth—the same warmth he was feeling now we just him and Miwa. Somewhere along the way, she had virtually become the only family to him. He hadn't seen his father since June last year, and his mother always slept the entire day whenever she was home, waking up only for her night shift at the hospital.

The delectable flavor of the crackling pork roast bloomed love in his heart, the cozy feeling spreading throughout his entire body—from the top of his head to the ends of his toes.

"I heard about him," Miwa said sympathetically at one point. She had been avoiding this topic for a while. "Oikawa Tooru, the boy who was murdered by his best friend. I'm so sorry, Tobio. I know they were your upperclassmen."

Kageyama simply nodded, then said, "I don't think Iwaizumi-san killed him."

"Eh? But they found his fingerprints on the murder weapon and everything."

But Kageyama remained adamant. "He _couldn't_ have. Iwaizumi-san would never do such a thing."

"Well, if you say so." She didn't sound totally convinced, but Kageyama didn't care. Miwa was free to think whatever she wanted about the situation. "Oikawa Tooru," she mumbled under her breath, "Where else have I heard that name before...?" She shook her head, pushing her chair back and collecting her empty plate. "Ah, whatever. Tobio, once you're done with that, put it in the dishwasher. We can eat the leftovers tomorrow morning."

"Okay. Thanks for dinner, Miwa."

He wouldn't know until tomorrow that it would be the last dinner they would ever share together.

* * *

**December 5th, 2012**

Tsukishima wasn't at practice today. The prick had been invited to a training camp at Shiratorizawa, apparently. For the first time, Yamaguchi was alone, but Kageyama didn't bother initiating conversation with him.

But for some reason, Yamaguchi drifted toward him.

"Hey, why don't we eat lunch together?" he asked when they were changing in the club room.

"Uh," said Kageyama.

Yamaguchi cleared his throat, looking slightly ashamed. "Look, I know we're not friends, but..."

"You have no one else, do you?" Kageyama ventured.

"... Yeah."

He looked away from the green-haired boy. "Fine."

"Huh? For real? Thanks, Ki—Kageyama!"

He pretended not to hear the hasty correction.

At lunch time, Yamaguchi found Kageyama in front of the vending machine, frowning in deep thought as he tried to decide which flavor of milk he should get. Then, without warning, Kageyama pressed two buttons at once, and a milk carton came rolling down for collection.

Curious, Yamaguchi asked, "Do you always do that?"

"Yeah," replied Kageyama, popping a straw into his drink. "Makes the decision for me."

"Ah, okay..." Yamaguchi trailed off, and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Yamaguchi looked as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure how to word it. Indifferent to his struggle, Kageyama just leaned against the wall and sipped his milk.

Then—

"I'm sorry," blurted Yamaguchi. When Kageyama turned his incredulous expression toward him, he looked away, grimacing. "I feel so pathetic right now... But I'm sorry." He paused. "That day, when you attacked Tsukki—I... I know it wasn't all your fault."

Kageyama considered this. Then he asked, "Why did you guys hide my things?"

"We wanted to get you kicked off the team," Yamaguchi explained. "It was my idea, and Tsukki went with it... But after everything that's happened... I've never felt so small in my life." He sighed. "I guess that's all I wanted to say to you. Sorry for wasting your time, Kageyama."

He made to leave, but Kageyama called after him, "Where are you going?"

"Huh?"

"Lunch isn't over yet."

The invitation was omitted, but Yamaguchi caught it anyway.

_Stay with me, if you want._

Yamaguchi cracked a smile. "Heh. I guess you're right."

* * *

 _Where's Miwa?_ Kageyama wondered as he sat by himself at the dinner table, staring at his instant ramen. It was already nine o'clock, and Miwa was nowhere to be seen.

His noodles were getting cold, but he didn't care.

Of course, he tried to reason, Miwa was an adult. She had every right and reason to be outside at this time.

_But why didn't she tell me she was going to be out this late?_

Kageyama scarfed down his noodles in record time, then dialed Miwa's phone number from the house phone. He dialed it again and again and again, even when he got nothing but her automated voicemail message each time.

 _Sorry I'm not available right now!_ her customer service voice chirped. If _you want to make a personal appointment with me, please leave a message or call..._

Kageyama cancelled the call.

 _If she's not back by tomorrow morning, I'll call the police,_ he decided, his heart thudding. Just to make sure this wasn't some weird dream, he went upstairs and checked her childhood bedroom. Sure enough, the single suitcase she had brought along was still there, and a couple of crumpled sports bras were strewn across her bed.

He looked out the window. Her car, which had been parked outside this morning, was gone.

Kageyama cursed, paranoia overwhelming him. "Fuck it," he muttered, running downstairs to the kitchen to the house phone. His eyes landed on the calendar, today's date searing itself into his brain, before he dialed emergency services.

Miwa never did come home that night.

* * *

**December, 2012**

The police waited until the next morning before investigating.

They found her car in the parking lot of a local supermarket. The groceries she had bought for last night's dinner were still sitting in the back seat, the spring onion sticking out of one of the bags sagging.

The owner—Shimada Makoto—was questioned, but nothing valuable came up. He hadn't even been present most of the day, having gone downtown with friends. The person manning the store had been a young woman who had spent most of her time reading a fashion magazine. There were no CCTV cameras installed besides one in a small corner where Shimada had caught a youngster shoplifting once. Miwa appeared for a split second in the camera's view, then disappeared into another aisle.

The search lasted all of two days before it was called off.

"What do you mean you're calling it off?!" Kageyama roared at the liaison officers standing opposite him. His mother—she had heavy bags under her eyes—stood behind him, worn and weary.

"The trail's gone cold, son," the mustachioed officer informed him with a heavy sigh. "And we're getting spread thin as it is."

"Gone cold?!" Kageyama grabbed the man by the collar, seething. "Try harder!"

"Hands off!" the younger officer snapped, shoving Kageyama back.

His mother's hands landed on his shoulder, and she whispered something Kageyama didn't hear.

"Please!" he begged, his face crumpling as a wave of desperation swept him off his feet. "You have to find her! You have to!"

"Tobio, that's enough," said his mother, trying to pull him back into the house.

Fury enveloped him. "What the hell are you damn cops even doing?!" he spat, venom dripping from his words. "You can't help _anyone_ , can you?! Not _Oikawa_ , not _Iwaizumi_ , and not _Miwa_!"

" _Tobio_!" sobbed his mother, her voice rising in a desperate scream. "Tobio, I said that's _enough_!"

In the dead of winter, a crow cawed.

* * *

**December 9th, 2012**

When Tsukishima Kei entered the club room that morning, he didn't expect the several pairs of world-weary eyes turning his way. It was one of those rare occasions where everybody happened to be in the club room. Cocking an eyebrow, Tsukishima shouldered his schoolbag off. "What's up with everyone? Why do you all look like someone just died?" He couldn't help but wince at his own words—even he should've known better, seeing how Oikawa's death hadn't even been a month ago. He cleared his throat, pretending he hadn't said it at all.

"Tsukishima," Sugawara said, throat bobbing. "Kageyama, he... Last night, he ran away from home."

Tsukishima blinked once. Twice.

Then—

_"What?"_


	7. The Tale of Kageyama (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama's story comes to an end with only more unanswered questions...

**April 12th, 2018**

"Hold on," Sakusa interrupted, tapping the end of his pen on the table. "Your records say that you officially dropped out of school in February."

Kageyama nodded. "Yes."

"So before that..."

"I had to find her. Because she became the only thing that still mattered to me."

A pause.

"Carry on."

* * *

**December 18th, 2012**

Kageyama returned to school approximately one week later with a dark bruise on his cheek. The moment he stepped into the gym for morning practice, he was swarmed. The boys all clamored and called, worry and concern underlying their tones.

"Kageyama-san!" Takeda pushed his way to the front, eyes round with shock. "What happened?" Without waiting for a response, he looked around for the managers. "Shimizu-san, please take him to the infirmary—"

"I've already been checked," Kageyama waved off his concern, "It's worse than it looks."

But Takeda wouldn't back down that easily. "Will you at least tell us what happened? We've all been worried about you, Kageyama-san."

 _What?_ Kageyama frowned at the multitude of faces peering at him with concerned eyes. Slowly, he reached up to graze the bruise on his cheek. _They only became worried... when they saw a physical mark._ Maybe he should have just goaded Tsukishima into punching him all those months ago, then things would've been easier.

Because they lived in a world where evidence decided everything.

"I ran into a pole," Kageyama lied.

At that, some of them sagged with relief, but others—Daichi, Sugawara, and, surprisingly, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima—were not convinced.

"Did someone do this to you?" Sugawara asked tentatively.

There was no point in lying, was there? So, sighing gruffly, he admitted, "I got punched, okay?"

"Someone punched you?" Tsukishima sounded disbelieving. "Huh."

Kageyama narrowed his eyes at him. "Why do _you_ care?"

The blond turned away. "I _don't_."

"What?! Punched?!" Tanaka was outraged. "Oi, oi, which punk did it, huh?! I swear, I'll—"

Takeda coughed. "Tanaka! I don't want any revenge nonsense. Kageyama-san, let's go to the principal's office. Whoever hurt you will be punished—"

"But I started it."

"... What?"

Their eyes changed again—into something more cautious. But Kageyama didn't care anymore. How foolish he had been, to ever have valued the fluctuating opinions of these people. They only believed what they wanted to see. "Yeah," Kageyama went on. "I started it. I punched him first. So what?"

Yamaguchi stuttered out, "Wait... You didn't really..."

"I did." Kageyama smiled. "I broke into his house, too. Well, Takeda-sensei? Are we still going to the principal?" When he didn't answer, Kageyama turned around and headed for the exit. "I thought so."

Nobody called after him.

_"You took my sister, didn't you?!" Kageyama demanded, catching the older man's face in a fierce right hook. He stumbled backward, and Kageyama pinned him down, pressing down against his throat. "You think I didn't see it? How you looked at her with those eyes? Fucking pervert. Now where is she?! Where is she?!"_

_"I... I don't know... What you're talking about...!" Tears rolled down his grotesque face. "P-please, don't kill me... Don't kill me...!"_

Once he well out of Karasuno's way, he took off his backpack and placed it on the ground, unzipping it. Inside were stacks and stacks of missing persons posters, all of them with Miwa's face in it. She wasn't smiling—it looked like a mugshot, almost. He felt his gut clench. _I'll find you, I promise._

All day, he wandered around the neighborhood, asking only one question.

"Have you seen Miwa?"

The elderly lady shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, but I haven't seen her."

"Have you seen Miwa?"

He stuck her posters on every free space on every telephone pole or wall.

"Have you seen Miwa?"

The man who owned the television store stroked his chin in thought, then sighed. "Nope. Sorry, kid."

For months, it seemed to be the only thing he would utter. Over and over again, like a broken record from hell.

_"Have you seen Miwa?"_

* * *

**February 10th, 2012**

"Have you seen Miwa?" Unflinchingly, Kageyama held out her poster to a group of older boys, all three of them squatting in an alleyway and smoking cigarettes. The smoke made him want to sneeze and cough, but he needed an answer from them first.

One of them—he had dyed red hair and a nose piercing—grabbed the poster from him. "Well?" he prompted his friends. "A real cutie, ain't she?"

Kageyama gritted his teeth. "It's a yes or no question."

"Calm down, kid." Redhead smirked. "As a matter of fact... We _have_ seen her. But," he added swiftly, before Kageyama could interrupt, "You're gonna have to do us a favor before we do you one." He held out his hand. "Whaddya say? Help a brother out?"

Kageyama stared at the filthy, unwashed hand. Then he took it, shaking it firmly. "Deal."

"That's the spirit. Meet us back here at five o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

When he got home, he was surprised to see his mother in the kitchen. She was chopping vegetables for tonight's dinner, the boiling water on the stove fogging up her black-rimmed glasses. She turned when he entered. "Good evening, Tobio."

"Mother."

It was a rare sight. Kageyama couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten her cooking. It was overwhelming, somehow, and he felt the back of his eyes burn. But he shook the feeling away, heading upstairs and flopping onto his bed.

His heart almost jumped to his throat a few times when he thought about Miwa's return. She would probably be hurt somehow, he concluded. He would be prepared to carry her all the way to the hospital if necessary.

"Where are you going?" Kageyama's mother, Reina, asked when he stalked to the front door later that evening.

"Out for a run," Kageyama threw back over his shoulder as he tied his shoelaces, hoping that it sounded convincing.

"Alright. Be back for dinner—it's at seven."

"Okay."

"Tobio..." Kageyama glanced backward. "Please... don't get into trouble again. And I..." Reina cleared her throat. "Never mind. Go on now."

"Okay."

 _'I love you, Tobio',_ he pretended she said as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

"Well, well!" Redhead laughed, smacking Kageyama on the back. "You came after all."

"I'm on time," said Kageyama, looking flummoxed.

"Oh, sure, kid!" Another laugh. "But Daisuke here," Redhead jabbed his thumb at the dark-haired boy with broad shoulders, "was beginning to doubt ya. I knew I could trust ya—look's like we got a new brother today! You can call me Aka, kid. And these two handsome fellas are Daisuke and Hiroomi."

Daisuke lifted an arm. "Yo."

"Better stick close to Aka," Hiroomi advised with a rat-like grin. "What's your name, kid?"

"Kageyama."

"We'll call you Kage for short," said Aka. "How's that sound?"

Kageyama shrugged. "Okay."

"Not very talkative, is he?" Daisuke chuckled. "All the better, right, Aka?"

"Don't spoil the surprise!" Aka scolded mildly, though there was a dangerous edge to his tone. "Alright, the place is that small apartment a few blocks away from here. Kage, stick close."

Moving in the shadows of the late evening sun, the three boys led him to a tiny apartment block. They climbed the stairs, Aka stating that there were security cameras in the elevator.

Kageyama frowned. _Why would he be worried about that?_ The kind of favor he was doing them... Was it—

"We're here," Aka said quietly, standing in front of an unassuming door. "The parents should still be at work, and the kid has volleyball practice on Friday. Kage—check underneath the doormat. There should be a key."

Kageyama flipped the mat over and pawed the floor beneath it, eyes lighting up when he felt the bumps of the metal key. He pulled it out and showed it to the others. "Is this it?"

"Yep. Now hurry—unlock the door."

"... This is breaking and entering."

"So?" Aka's face contorted into something ugly. "Do you wanna see your sister again? 'Cause we ain't sayin' shit if you ain't with us."

_That's right. Miwa's depending on me._

So Kageyama nodded.

At this point, it hadn't been his first time doing something illegal. Just two months ago, he had broken into an old man's house and almost strangled the shit out of him. But in the end, he hadn't known Miwa's whereabouts, though he did admit to taking secret photos of her. So, steeling himself, Kageyama unlocked the door.

"And we're in," Hiroomi said gleefully, taking off his shoes.

"Keep yours on," Aka ordered when Kageyama tried to do the same. "It's less suspicious."

Kageyama blinked. "How?"

"It just is. Now just stick close to me."

The boys, bar Kageyama, picked up their shoes and started scrounging around the place, Kageyama hesitantly following Aka.

"Oi, over here!" Daisuke called from one of the bedrooms. "We hit the jackpot!"

Immediately, the remaining three dashed toward him, finding Daisuke standing triumphantly over a drawer filled with shiny jewelry.

"Damn," Aka whistled, licking his lips. "Even if this shit ain't real, it can still fetch a pretty penny over at the pawn shop." He picked up a woman's gold necklace and sank his teeth into it. "Hmm... How does this shit work again? Eh." He tucked it in his shoes. "Gather round, boys, and take as much as you can. And you," he pointed at Kageyama, "Keep watch at the door. The kid could come home any minute from now."

"Okay."

So, religiously, Kageyama stood by the door, which remained ajar for a quick getaway. After five heart-pounding minutes, Aka summoned him back into the bedroom with the jewelry in it. "We can't take all of it ourselves," Aka explained, a sheepish grin on his face. "Take off one of your shoes and fill it up with the rest. Hurry now."

From an open window, the winter wind blew through the bedroom, making Kageyama shudder through his hoodie.

Then voices sounded from the entrance.

"Huh? Why is the door open, dear?"

"Hmph... I think I know why..."

"Mom? Dad? You're home already?"

The last voice was so familiar that Kageyama _froze_.

A thunk gained his attention, and Kageyama whipped his head to the side to see Aka squeezing through the window and climbing down the fire escape with practiced ease, Hiroomi and Daisuke already gone. At Kageyama's bewildered expression, the red-haired boy laughed. "Thanks a bunch, _Kage!_ "

Aka closed the window and disappeared, Kageyama's hands—his fingers tangled with beaded gems—shakily hovering over his sneaker.

 _No,_ he thought, his mouth opening and closing.

This couldn't be happening.

What about Miwa?

_What about me?_

Then something hard slammed into the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the side, jewelry scattering noisily around the room. Voices echoed around him, but they were muffled. Blood dripped from between his eyes, having gashed his forehead against the corner of the night stand, and the last thing he saw before blackness swallowed him was Yamaguchi's horrified face.

* * *

**April 12th, 2018**

Kageyama rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Sakusa looked up from his notes. "Can I get a glass of water?" he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the table.

"Of course." Sakusa stood with his notes and pen, walking around the table. He glanced back once, trying to spot the scar on Kageyama's head, but his hair covered whatever that might have been there.

When he returned, Kageyama hadn't moved from his spot, still staring at the table.

"Take your time," Sakusa told him, resting his elbows on the table and inching forward a bit like a long, languid cat. "I know it can't be easy for you."

"I was signed out of school, and they sent me to juvenile prison," Kageyama said hollowly, eventually looking up. "It was... It wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to me. It was like school, almost. Sent people in to rehabilitate us."

Sakusa remembered the year the National Youth Offender's Rehabilitation Program was established. Kageyama's cohort were guinea pigs of sorts, the first group of offenders to undergo and complete the program. It had been jointly sponsored by financial analyst and investor Hirakawa Daizen and his lawyer friend, Midorima Mahiro.

"I completed the program, and they sent me back to school with an officer there."

"Oh?" That piqued Sakusa's interest. "An officer went to school with you?"

"It was convenience. She was already a student there, and the daughter of a big name."

Sakusa had a hunch that he knew who it was. _Of course it had to be her. The damn Owl-face of Miyagi._

"Hirakawa Noriko," Sakusa said drolly. "She was your supervisor, wasn't she?"

"Yes," Kageyama blinked, a little surprised, "She was." He drank the rest of his water. "You said this was about Oikawa."

"Right. We did deviate a bit, didn't we?" Sakusa took out the note from his briefcase, the paper still encased in a plastic bag. "But I have a feeling that things will all become clear in the long-run. Do you recognize this?"

Kageyama gave it a good long look, then replied, "No. What is it?"

 _He's not lying._ That relieved Sakusa a little—after everything Kageyama had been through, it would have been too sad an ending for him to be the killer. Only one option stuck out to Sakusa right now as an explanation for the blood. He opened Kageyama's file again, peering at the big bold letters on the top of his mugshot.

**MATCH: Kageyama Tobio**

"Matches aren't one-hundred percent."

Kageyama stirred in his seat, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm willing to wager," Sakusa drawled, "That the blood on this note isn't yours at all. No, in fact..."

_"It's probably your sister's."_

* * *

Outside the interrogation room, Kindaichi paced in the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. "What's taking them so long?" he muttered. "It's been nearly an hour since they went in..."

"Calm down, Kindaichi-san," Okazaki, who was sitting on the metal seating against the wall, soothed. "It's not unusual for interrogations to take this long. Some take even longer."

"He came out before," Kindaichi said. "But then he went back in without saying a word to us!" Sighing, he sat down next to her, bouncing his leg up and down. "Dammit... This wait is killing me."

"You'll have to get used to it, Kindaichi-san." She offered him another candy. "Would this calm your frayed nerves?"

By now, Kindaichi had eaten at least four of them, and shook his head and resumed his pacing. "Thanks, but not this time. I—"

The interrogation room swung open, nearly hitting him in the face.

"You shouldn't stand there," Sakusa reprimanded with zero preamble. Kageyama stepped out from behind him, looking a little lost. "You're free to go, Kageyama-san," he said to him, handing him a small business card. "Give me a call if you need to."

"Wait, about my sister," Kageyama began.

 _Kageyama has a sister?_ Kindaichi stared at the two men, startled. Somehow, he had been locked firmly out of the conversation. He could feel Okazaki's sympathetic gaze from behind, but they felt more like white hot knives in his back. _That's right. Of course I didn't know. I made sure that I had no place in Kageyama's life._

"I told you before," Sakusa reminded, alluding to some previous event that Kindaichi had no idea of. "When we find the killer, we'll find your sister."

Kageyama stood down. "Fine. But please call me if anything comes up."

"Of course. Thank you for your time."

Kageyama nodded, then stalked to the elevator. Kindaichi watched him go, unsure of what to say or do. Then, he breathed a sigh of relief, sinking down on the bench next to Okazaki. He buried his hands in his face, digging his fingers into his forehead. "Thank god," he croaked a whisper, "Thank _god_ it wasn't him." When he looked back up again, recomposing himself, Sakusa was watching him, his expression unreadable.

"It's getting late," Sakusa said eventually, checking his watch. "Kindaichi, do you have any dinner plans tonight?"

"I was gonna eat with the guys, but I'm sure they won't miss me." He started to reach into his pocket for his phone.

"Good. We'll eat at the office tonight. There are still things we need to talk about. Okazaki, prepare something filling for the three of us."

Okazaki beamed. "Of course, sir. Would you like some hand sanitizer?"

But Sakusa had come prepared, pulling out a small bottle of it from a pocket on the insight of his suit. "No need."

All in all, today had been longer and harder than Kindaichi had expected. As the three of them made their way down the elevator, Okazaki using her elbow to push the button for the lobby ("I'll have to wash this cardigan tonight."), Kindaichi remained silent. Not much conversation happened between them anyway—it wasn't difficult.

 _What now?_ Kindaichi asked himself. He would have leaned against the wall of the lift had Sakusa not been with him. He felt strangely... empty. Like he had been robbed of all sustenance in a single instant. Of course, he was glad that Kageyama was innocent—because he didn't know _what_ he would have done if Kageyama had killed Oikawa—but something about today had sucked all the life out of him.

"It's because you're finally seeing the world for what it is."

Startling, Kindaichi whipped around to face Sakusa. "What?" _Did I say it out loud or something?_ "How did you...?"

"It's written all over your face." Sakusa let out a deep sigh, turning to face him, too. To the side, Okazaki stood, her eyes closed and her painted lips pursed. "You knew Kageyama as a kid. It's always hard, to see someone you once looked at with rose-tinted glasses like this. Moments like these are when we realize how old we've gotten. What our peers have become. What _we've_ become.

"But we can't pity ourselves. This is just the reality that we live in."

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

Kindaichi laughed as he stepped out, but it was more of a tired chuckle than anything else. "Has anyone ever told you how blunt you can be?"

A ghost of a smile flickered on Sakusa's face. "There was one guy who felt the constant need to remind me."

"You'll have to tell me about him."

"Maybe someday."

* * *

Yahaba slammed his fist on the bathroom door, a frown creasing his plucked brows. "Oi, Goshiki! What's taking so long?"

"Gimme a minute, I'm shaving!" came the muffled response, followed by a thunk on the door. "Ow, my knee!"

In his bed, Kunimi rolled over, his blanket twisting around him.

"You look like a mermaid," Yahaba remarked.

"And you look..." Kunimi narrowed his eyes. "Weird."

"What? Me, weird? Is it the hair?" Yahaba shifted so that he was in front of the mirror at the entrance-way. "It's the hair, isn't it? Damn! I told that barber that—" He bit his tongue. "Ugh, never mind."

"Why are you so touchy?"

"I'm not touchy! And if I am, I'll stop being touchy _when Goshiki gets the hell out of the bathroom!_ "

Huffing, Kunimi rolled in his bed again so that he was facing the wall and not them. "So noisy..."

When Kindaichi had texted in the group chat saying that he couldn't make tonight's pasta dinner, tempers had shortened considerably. Because—

 _Kindaichi, you idiot!_ Kunimi deadpanned at the wall. _You were the one who had the coupon!_

Goshiki had been too lazy to cook, so they had all eaten a underwhelming meal of instant noodles.

Eventually, Goshiki came out in his pajamas. "You can go in now," he told Yahaba. "Oh, but the hot water's acting up a little bit."

"Great, just my luck. Cold water is terrible for my skin."

 _Skin? I know Yahaba likes to be fancy and puts too much emphasis on self-care, but since when has he given a rat's ass about his skin?_ Kunimi sat up, perturbed.

"Antsy, isn't he?" commented Goshiki, pouring himself a glass of water at the kitchenette.

Kunimi's gaze lingered on Goshiki's cat-print pajama pants, the hem of which skimmed the floorboards. "It's just Yahaba being Yahaba," he said loftily, feeling the lie slick around his tongue and cling to his teeth like molasses.

"Sure." Goshiki shrugged. "I should turn in early, I have morning classes tomorrow."

"That's probably for the best. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Once he was sure Goshiki was asleep, Kunimi let out a sigh. _This is ridiculous... Count to ten, Akira, like Dr. Nakamura said. One, two, three..._ He made it to twenty before taking in a deep breath and pulling his blankets over his head. _I'm overthinking things... Yahaba, he's not..._ And uncomfortable feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach. _Right?_

Quickly lifting his head to check if Goshiki was looking, Kunimi grabbed his phone and opened Picstagram, almost frantically scrolling through his feed. He got past all the cooking accounts, the campus queen's fifth almost-nude mirror selfie, and a dreamy edit by his classmate Yachi before he arrived at Yahaba's latest photo.

It was just a picture of pasta. Kunimi read the caption, which was obnoxious and cheesy, but also nothing out of the ordinary. He swiped right, but there were no other pictures in his post. _No pictures of his date?_ The location was tagged as a pasta restaurant Kunimi recognized; it was nearby campus. Checking the comments gleaned no information either, though...

 _There's a discrepancy in the number of comments and replies and the overall number at the top. There are eleven comments, but only nine of them are visible._ He was no expert in Picstagram, but that told him that Yahaba was either hiding or deleting comments, with the system having not caught up to his manual intervention yet. _Only one way to find out._

Kunimi switched to a spare account—Woo Jun, South Korean transfer student. It was just one of many he had. Then, his face utterly unreadable, he commented on Yahaba's post, making sure to follow the account just in case Yahaba ever turned it into a private account.

 **Woo_Jun** Hot date? 😉😗

 _I feel like a creep,_ Kunimi grumbled internally. _This better be worth it..._

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. Sakusa wasn't really a big talker in the first place, and Kindaichi was too mentally drained to maintain a conversation. Okazaki served them diligently; once they had finished eating, she collected their plates without a word and ran them under the sink before putting them in the dishwasher. She started it, and soon the room was filled with a humming noise as the machine worked hard to clean their dishes. Then she disappeared into her room, leaving Sakusa and Kindaichi to themselves.

"What did you want to talk about?" Kindaichi asked eventually.

"About what I called you here for this afternoon," the prosecutor answered, rubbing hand sanitizer into his palms. "It wasn't about the blood—the forensic team has terrible timing. I called you here to prepare for a meeting with our next suspect."

At that, Kindaichi straightened in his chair, eyes widening. "Our next suspect? Who is it?"

"He's high profile compared to the others, so it was more difficult to get a hold of him." Getting up, Sakusa grabbed the television remote and turned it on. The title card of Goshiki's favorite cooking show— _Baking: Miya Style_ —appeared on the screen.

Kindaichi could hardly believe his eyes. "Isn't that—?"

"Miya Osamu," Sakusa lowered the volume as Osamu greeted the viewers with his showmanship smile, "Celebrity chef." He turned to look at Kindaichi. "And we'll be meeting him next weekend. But for now..." He sat back down at the dinner table. "How are you holding up, Kindaichi-san?"

"I've been better, I guess. Today... It was a real eye-opener. But about Kageyama..."

"He's a dead lead."

"Oh."

Sakusa picked up his briefcase bag and removed an item from it. "Here."

"Hm? What is it?" Kindaichi took it—it appeared to be a disc.

"It's the recording of the interrogation," Sakusa informed him, taking a sip of his wine.

"Eh?! Is this even legal?" Kindaichi tried to give it back to him. "I don't want it—"

Sakusa huffed, pushing his hand back. "It's perfectly fine. In fact, Kageyama wanted you to hear what he had to say."

 _What?_ Kindaichi looked down at the plastic-encased disc, feeling his heart twist. _Kageyama... wanted me to hear this?_

"Listen to it when you have the time. But between now and Saturday, I want you to do some research on Miya Osamu. Find out about him as much as you can."

"Of course, sir." Kindaichi's grip on the disc tightened.

"Go home now," said Sakusa. "And get some sleep. You need it."

"Alright. Thank you... Sakusa-san."

Outside, the moon shone brightly.

* * *

**April 13th, 2018**

The next morning, the first thing Kunimi was check his phone. The comment was still there. Sighing, he fell back into his bed.

_Maybe I was just being paranoid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And we've reached the end of the Kageyama backstory. The Miya Brothers will be making their official appearances in a few chapters :D
> 
> Any theories you have, feel free to post about them in reviews/comments!


	8. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi shares his research with Sakusa. And is Oikawa really dead?

**April 16th, 2018**

_You're so caught up in the past._

Kunimi took a long sip of his afternoon coffee at the kitchen counter, watching Kindaichi intently stare at the television, handwritten notes strewn all over the coffee table. The sliding door to the balcony was open, inviting inside a cool breeze that had the curtains lashing.

On the television, Goshiki's favorite dessert chef was showing the viewers how to make a vegan chocolate cake.

_Why can't you just let everything go?_

Ever since last Thursday, the night Kindaichi had ditched them for dinner at his boss' place, he had been obsessed with Miya Osamu. Kunimi knew who he was—he followed him on Picstagram, and he knew that Goshiki did, too. The man posted every day on his Picstagram story, and normally once every two or three days on his feed. It was strange—Kindaichi had never been interested in the world of cooking before, and Osamu was embedded quite deeply in it. He was surprised that his friend even knew of Osamu's existence when he knew for a fact Kindaichi couldn't even name four extremely well-known celebrities off the top of his head.

The gears in his head began to spin. _Does Osamu have anything to do with the case? And if he does..._

"Oi, Kindaichi," Kunimi said, plopping down on the couch next to him. "How's the investigation going?"

They never had talked about what had happened on Thursday—Kindaichi had thrown himself into his studies and work almost immediately after, and Kunimi had had his own business to attend to. Today, they had a brief moment of peace.

"We thought we had some leads," replied Kindaichi, a little reluctant. "But in the end, it just raised more questions."

"Hm? How so?"

Kindaichi's eyes shifted from the screen to Kunimi. "Remember Kageyama?"

"Yep. How could I not?" _Kageyama? What's Kageyama gotta do with anything?_

"He was our lead. But," he sighed, frustrated, "It didn't really go anywhere."

Kunimi blinked. Then he leaned into the couch, sinking into the cushion slightly. "Huh. Didn't see that coming. And what about that thing?"

Kindaichi, who had hunched over to scribble down more notes on Osamu, looked up at him. "What thing?"

"That thing you brought back the other night. I heard you drop it inside your drawer. By the sound of it... Something flat and plastic?"

"I thought you were asleep!"

"Let's just say I had a rough night."

He had been religiously checking Yahaba's Picstagram each day, but his comment was still up. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe Yahaba hadn't been—

"It's a copy of Kageyama's interrogation," Kindaichi admitted, frowning at the floor. "Sakusa-san told me that Kageyama wanted me to hear what he had to say. But I dunno, I... I haven't listened to it yet. Haven't had the time."

 _Kageyama. Why Kageyama?_ Kunimi hummed, noncommittal. _Ugh. All these reminders, they're popping up everywhere..._ A wave of anxiety washed over him, and Kunimi hugged his knees to his chest, feeling goosebumps rise on his arms. "Yeah, just get all your work done first." His shoulder started to ache, and, absently, he lifted a hand to rub the pain away. "Forget it's even there." He stood, brows raising as he saw Kindaichi's eyes practically sparkle when Osamu took his cake out of the oven. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Have fun with your show."

Kindaichi huffed. "It's for _research_."

As soon as Kunimi had closed the bathroom door behind him, he breathed a quiet sigh. After he had taken off his sweatshirt, he moved in front of the mirror, staring unflinchingly at the ugly, protruding scar tissue on his right shoulder.

_I want to know. God, I want to know who killed him, too._

_But please, Kindaichi._

_It'd be better if you'd just forget about it._

* * *

Today, Smith joined them for lunch at their table. He was towering boulder of a man, and Shirabu could safely say that he didn't think Smith's puppy-like facial features didn't match his body. While Shirabu and Obata waited for the food delivery they had ordered from a local cafe, Smith took out his lunch box and opened it slowly, as if it were a great treasure.

Obata, seated next to him, unabashedly peered over his shoulder. "What did Kimiko-san make you today?"

"Let's find out," Smith rumbled, grinning widely.

What his wife, Kimiko, had cooked for him today, turned out to be octopus wieners and rice.

Shirabu had not seen anyone eat octopus wieners for lunch since high school, and would have said so had Smith not regarded his food with such awe and amazement.

"That look's amazing!" Obata gasped. "Right, Shirabu-san? Aren't they just adorable?"

"The cutest," Shirabu said woodenly, pulling his phone out.

"Kimiko," Smith blubbered before putting his hands together as he began to pray. Out of respect, Obata stayed silent, though she was bouncing up and down in her seat.

Meanwhile, Shirabu had his eyes glued to his phone, a crease in his brows. Smith's silent prayer and Obata's movements faded into nothingness, Shirabu chewing the inside of his cheek as he glared rather nastily at the messages he had gotten from Semi.

 **[Semi]:** I know you've been reading my messages, bastard!

 **[Semi]:** It's been six years since we last saw him.

 **[Semi]:** If you ever see him, just call me or Ushijima, okay?

 **[Semi]:** We should have a reunion in Sendai.

 _I'm not obliged to do anything,_ Shirabu retorted stubbornly in his head. _And can't we at least wait ten years before a reunion? Geez. These old geezers must be getting bored..._

What Semi said, however, did tug at him a little. He wasn't so foolish as to think that he could escape unscathed by what had happened six years ago. _I wonder how he's doing now._ He'd never been bothered to track him down after he disappeared from the volleyball circuit, but Shirabu thought of him sometimes. The injured look on his face as his dream fell apart right—

"Hello? Earth to Shirabu-san?"

Obata's hand appeared right in front of his face, and, irritably, he swatted it away. "What?"

" _Rude_. Smith-san just offered you a sausage."

True to her word, Smith was holding an octopus sausage with his chopsticks toward him. Sighing, Shirabu nodded pinched the oily sausage with his fingers. "Thanks." He tossed it in his mouth, eyes brightening at the explosion of flavor in his mouth. His reaction didn't go unnoticed—both Obata and Smith exchanged grins.

Perhaps it had been wrong of him, he considered as he looked down at the remaining octopus wieners in Smith's lunch box, to think that it was stupid or immature to enjoy a perfectly good octopus wiener for lunch.

It was just a shame that the food was something he associated with the festering cesspool that had been high school.

_Dream big, fall hard._

That night, on the fifth of December, had been testament to that.

_Seijoh's dream wasn't the only one crushed that night._

"Funny story, actually," Smith began, answering a question from Obata that Shirabu hadn't heard. "My wife used to hate cooking sausages. Said they were too unhealthy and that you guys would laugh at me if I brought them to work."

"She has a point," stated Shirabu.

Smith looked confused. "About which part?"

 _Both._ "Um, the unhealthy part."

"As long as I eat them in moderation, I'll be fine."

"So why did she change her mind?" asked Obata.

Smith launched into a winding tale that Shirabu only lent half an ear to. It involved his wife, Kimiko, and the celebrity chef that she had been obsessing over the past couple of weeks, Miya Osamu. Shirabu was familiar with the name and the face—he'd seen Osamu's smirking visage pasted on the side of a bus once, replacing model and idol Oishi Ryoka's angelic photo spread. Needless to say, it was getting tiring to see and hear about Osamu everywhere he went. At least Oishi's long legs were still on a large billboard some blocks away from the station.

Then came a part that piqued Shirabu's interest.

"There was a meet and greet in Shibuya two weeks ago," Smith said, suddenly sounding more serious. He sat back against the cushion of the diner-style seat, his hair appearing blonder under the light. "To celebrate the release of his cookbook. Of course, Kimiko wanted to go, and she took me and the twins along. We waited almost two hours in line just for an autograph! We must have looked pretty pitiful, because Miya-san offered to write a special dedication to Kimiko on her paper _and_ take a photo with us." He scratched the back of his head, breaking the serious demeanor for a second. "She practically lit up like a Christmas tree, she did." Smith pulled out his wallet and fumbled with it, eventually taking out a palm-sized picture. "Here, look."

Shirabu and Obata both leaned forward at once, knocking the crowns of their heads together. Shirabu gave her a withering stare, while Obata rolled her eyes.

Smith's six-year-old boy twins—Asa and Ken, if Shirabu remembered correctly—were pulling faces at the camera, while Smith looked just plain defeated by the entire experience. Kimiko was beaming into the camera as Osamu put his arms around her shoulders.

"It looks lovely," Obata said politely. "But why do you sound so upset about it?"

"Well, look at him!" Smith pointed at Osamu. "He's a villain!"

Just then, the door to the break room opened, and Secretary Jay, with his oiled back hair, walked in. "Yo," he said, holding the door open for another person—a lean man with orange hair hidden under his cap. "Your food's here."

Obata cheered, "Great! I'm starving! Shirabu-san, tip the delivery guy."

"Why do _I_ have to do it?"

"Well, _fine_ then, you stingy bastard." Grumbling, she took out her own wallet and dug around for some cash for—Shirabu glanced at his name tag— _Hinata Shouyou_. "Here you go, sir." Then, without warning, she saluted the man. "Respect! Our blue-collar workers drive this society!"

Hinata grinned widely, returning the salute after accepting her cash. "Yosh! I'll do my best, ma'am!"

Once Hinata and Secretary Jay had departed, Shirabu and Obata dug into their lunch. Smith was eating slowly, savoring each bite of his octopus sausages. The photo he had shown them was tucked safely back in his wallet.

"About Miya Osamu," the American man said abruptly, peering at Shirabu. "I'm sure that you saw his name on the suspect list I gave you."

Obata almost choked on her food. "What? That hottie is a suspect?"

"Yeah, I saw," affirmed Shirabu, chopsticks hovering above his lunch as he debated whether to eat the chips or the salad next. "Why? What did he do?"

"The thing is, I didn't put him down because he was on the registry." Smith paused. "I did it because I saw what his handwriting looked like on my wife's autograph. It's not exactly the same, but incredibly similar, especially with how he writes certain characters like _tsyu_. Plus, according to Kimiko, his family has had their share of controversy, _and_ have lived in Miyagi briefly."

 _Miya Osamu? The killer?_ It didn't sound right to him, but one never knew these days.

"Hang on, guys," Obata chimed, blinking at something on her phone. "What was the dead guy's name again?"

"Oikawa Tooru," Shiraba supplied.

"Uhh... If Oikawa Tooru died, then why is my little sister whining about him on her Picstagram story? In a way that implies that he's currently alive and well?"

Smith's last octopus wiener fell from his chopsticks at the same time Shirabu dropped a dollop of mayonnaise on his fries.

* * *

**April 21st, 2018**

Saturday came sooner than Kindaichi had anticipated. He arrived at Sakusa's office with all of his research packed into his messenger bag, which he wore slung around his shoulder. Since they were meeting with a big name today, he had worn his best suit and tie to work, and had gone so far as to shine his shoes as well.

When he opened the door, he found Okazaki enjoying a cup of tea in front of the television. She turned to him when she heard the door open, smiling. "Right on time, Kindaichi-san. Sakusa-san is ready to see you."

"Thanks, Okazaki-san."

Kindaichi found Sakusa standing behind his desk with his mask over his face, as per usual. He was holding a manila folder, and glanced up when Kindaichi stepped in. "Oh, good, you're here. Our appointment's in an hour and a half—we'll leave in twenty minutes."

"Yessir." Kindaichi sat down in front of his desk without prompting, opening the flap of his bag. Inside was a pile of notes and some pictures and news articles he had printed out at the university library—a thick rubber band was wrapped around the whole thing quite precariously. "I did as you said—here's all the stuff I found about him." With a satisfied smile, he placed it on top of Sakusa's table.

Raising an eyebrow at the paper monstrosity, Sakusa lowered himself into his seat, closing the manila folder he was holding. "And all of this is supposed to be relevant?"

Kindaichi hesitated, then nodded firmly. "Yessir! We never know what is or isn't relevant, so we should leave no stone un-turned."

Sakusa regarded him. Then a low rumble sounded from his chest, and Kindaichi realized that he was laughing, seemingly chuffed at his response. "That's a good mentality to have. Now," his gaze dropped back to the folder, "Sort through this mess and find me the most useful information you've gathered."

Kindaichi's head hung. "Right away, sir..." _Ahh, should've known he'd make me do this. I'm curious, though..._ "What's that you have there, Sakusa-san?"

"Oikawa Tooru's autopsy report. I have his profile with me as well. I'll let you look at it later."

"Ah, okay."

Settling down, Kindaichi began to work, relieving the rubber band of its duty and sifting through all of his notes and files. He kept three piles—one for useful information, one for information less relevant, and the third being the pile all of his unsorted things. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, he was done—his three piles reduced to two. Sakusa had put the autopsy report aside by then, and had moved on to other paperwork.

"Miya Osamu," Kindaichi began to read aloud from the useful pile. "He's twenty-two years old and a celebrity chef who specializes in desserts. He has two TV shows— _Baking: Miya Style_ and _Bettering Your Home and Garden_. He co-hosts the second one with idol Oishi Ryoka. He was born and raised in Kobe, Hyogo. According to several sources—all of which are gossip columns and one of which was pulled from a _really_ brief Mikipedia entry—he has a twin brother called Miya Atsumu."

"And the parents?"

"Divorced as of 2009." Kindaichi flipped through his notes. "The mother lives in Tokyo, while the father is back in Kobe. There's not really much about them."

"What about Atsumu?" Sakusa propounded. "Anything notable about him?"

"Eh... Oh, yeah. Apparently, they both starred in a reality show called _KidProdigy: Into the Frying Pan!_ in 2008. It was a cooking competition, but for kids aged nine to fourteen. During filming, the brothers and their mom lived temporarily in Miyagi. For 'undisclosed reasons'," quoted Kindaichi, brow raising, "Atsumu left the show before its conclusion." He peered up at Sakusa, who seemed to be listening closely. "Probably due to all the backlash he got."

"Backlash? Interesting," mused Sakusa, "What kind of backlash would a twelve-year-old invite?"

"All kinds. I streamed some of the episodes the other day, and," Kindaichi frowned, "He was a _huge_ brat. He borderline bullied and harassed the other contestants, even his own brother. Every time his interview played, it would be him saying all sorts of shit about the other kids. His behavior not only made Osamu more popular than any other contestant, but also made him a target of the internet. Multiple hate cafes were set up, videos of people burning his bromides popped up on YooTube and Spacebook, and nasty comments in general appeared all over social media and internet forums. Osamu became the golden child of 2008, and Atsumu was demonized to hell and back."

"Wonderful," Sakusa remarked rather dryly.

"It does seem a bit extreme," opined Kindaichi.

"I'm surprised the parents didn't take legal action over this. Then again, if they divorced soon after that shitfest," a snort, "maybe the bullying and harassment of a minor was the least of their concern. What about after 2008? What happened to the Miya brothers?"

Kindaichi's frown deepened as he went through his papers again before answering, "I didn't find much on them after that. There's pretty much zero information about Atsumu after he left the KidProdigy show. Osamu, though... He signed a contract with the director of KidProdigy—Shō Shinya. As a teen, he made a bunch of appearances in Director Shō's shows. Most of them were on game shows, or small acting roles. His popularity didn't start gaining traction until the past couple of years."

Sakusa nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the file he held—Oikawa's profile. "The KidProdigy show..."

"Is there something wrong, sir?"

"The opposite. I think we might be finally getting somewhere." Beneath his mask, Sakusa allowed himself a smile. _Oikawa Tooru,_ he read from the file, _Starred in KidProdigy: Into the Frying Pan! in 2008._ He unlocked a drawer in his desk, revealing a grey handbook from Tokyo University, which he had asked Okazaki to pick up this morning from the university's stationary store. The luck of Scorpios were ranked number two today— _and_ he had with him today's lucky item in today's lucky color, too. Looking at it made half of him want to throw it into the fire and regret ever meeting Midorima Shintaro, while the other half praised the gods and started planning arrangements to interview the staff members of the KidProdigy set from 2008 to 2009. Sighed exasperatedly, he picked up the handbook, replaced it with the file, and put it in his briefcase, standing. "Let's go—gather your things."

"Yessir." Hastily, Kindaichi picked up his notes and papers and sorted them into a single big pile again. He snapped the rubber band around it, breathing a sigh of relief when it didn't break. He followed Sakusa outside, shoving his things into his bag and trying to close the flap as he did so.

"Good luck, sir," Okazaki said just before they shut the door, smiling as always.

The corridors of the public prosecutors' office were busier today. Men and women hurried up and down the walkways, and Sakusa and Kindaichi found themselves trapped in the elevator with three other workers in the building.

"Ah, Sakusa-san!" a balding man greeting as Sakusa holed himself in the corner of the lift, brows furrowed and clearly grimacing underneath his mask. Next to him, Kindaichi chuckled slightly.

"Hello, Funamizu-san," Sakusa droned.

"Sakusa-san looks so uncomfortable," a woman in the lift laughed. "We're sorry, Sakusa-san, we'll get out of your hair soon enough."

"Hm. What's the occasion?"

"Didn't you hear?" Funamizu gaped. "The Prosecutor-General is coming in for an evaluation next week!"

Kindaichi blinked in surprise. "The Prosecutor-General?"

"So?" Sakusa deadpanned.

"Mou, Sakusa-san is truly fearless!" the woman said, sounding impressed. She looked at Kindaichi. "And you must be his new intern! Good luck with him—you'll need it."

Sakusa said flatly, "Nobody needs to _fear_ the Owl-face, Chinen-san. And Kindaichi-san has been doing _fine_."

Something welled up in Kindaichi's chest—pride and appreciation for Sakusa's indirect praise, and apprehension for the arrival of the Prosecutor-General. As he suspected everybody in the building knew, the Prosecutor-General was responsible for all the public prosecutors. He'd never met her before, but she did sound quite terrifying. _Sakusa-san called her 'Owl-face'. What's that supposed to mean? He doesn't seem very fazed by all this either, even though everybody else is._ Was he just fearless like Chinen had said, or was it something else?

The other occupants of the lift exited the tiny box before Kindaichi and Sakusa—who were heading down to the basement car park—did. Then Sakusa pulled out a spray bottle from his bag, and began misting the entire space with whatever liquid was inside.

"Uh, sir?" Kindaichi said hesitantly.

"I'm killing all of the germs they brought in here," Sakusa said by way of explaining, spraying disinfectant on the elevator buttons. _Lucky day my ass... Ugh._

"Ah. Right." _I almost forgot how obsessed with cleanliness he is..._

Sakusa only relaxed once they were inside his shiny black car, pulling his mask down and taking a deep breath of air after starting the vehicle. "Finally."

 _So clean,_ Kindaichi thought in awe. It was only his second time riding in Sakusa's car, and the sleek beauty had yet to fail to impress him. _This must've been hella expensive, though._ He cast Sakusa a side glance, the older man reached for his shades as they drove toward the exit, where grey light was spilling in.

Kindaichi closed his eyes as light washed over them.

Briefly, he wondered what Kunimi was doing.

* * *

"Kunimi-kun!"

Kunimi turned around at the sound of his name, the corner of his lips turning upward as he saw Yachi jogging toward him with a large smile on her face. "Hey, Yacchan," he said as she slowed to a stop next to him.

"Hi!" Yachi sounded slightly out of breath. Today, she was wearing a striped blouse with a black suspender skirt and looking generally more well-put together than Kunimi did in his hoodie and jeans. Her hair was down instead of in its usual ponytail. "I didn't see you at the lecture hall."

"Oh, I came late today. Was sitting toward the left wing."

"That explains it—I was on the right."

Kunimi and Yachi shared one class together—an art class that was offered as general education course. It was normally a practical subject, but they had art lectures once a week, and two practical tutorials a week. A design major, Yachi was quite at home with the subject, while Kunimi had only chosen it to unwind. Eventually, the two had become mutual acquaintances, and perhaps even friends.

"Y'know, when I chose this subject," sighed Kunimi, clutching his book on art theory to his chest. "I didn't realize we'd be going into _art politics_."

Yachi laughed at that. "That's what a lot of people think! My mom actually warned me about this class before, so it's only thanks to her I knew what was coming."

As they made their way through the quadrangle, words and whispers reached their ears—words and whispers that made Kunimi halt. Yachi looked back, confused. She said something, but Kunimi didn't hear, focused only the two girls talking loudly on the lawn. Both of them were heavily made up and carried a cup of bubble tea.

"Like, oh my god, he's such a fucking jerk," the one with green highlights in her hair said. "Throughout the whole damn date, all he did was flirt with the waitress!"

"Like, totes ew," her friend with blue hair sniffed, bringing up a manicured hand to cover her mouth in shock. "You can do so much better than him, Ayame, trust me."

"Yeah, well, anyway." Ayame stood. "I should be getting back to my own uni. I'll see ya, Risa. Just watch out for that guy, he's a _player_."

"Wait," Kunimi interrupted, walking up to them before Ayame could leave. "Who is this guy?"

"Hm?" Ayame side-eyed him. "Just some jerk called Oikawa Tooru! He's totes cute, but a damn flirt."

"Oikawa Tooru?" Yachi balked when she sidled up to Kunimi. "Wait, isn't he..."

"A womanizer!" huffed Risa. "You should get going, Ayame—your lecture is in half an hour!"

"Ah, dammit! Bye-bye, Risa!"

Risa didn't stick around to entertain Kunimi and Yachi, leaving them to stand in shock on the quadrangle lawn. Yachi gazed worriedly at Kunimi, biting her lip. "Kunimi-kun... You don't think..." She shook her head. "No. It's probably someone else. Right?"

"Right," Kunimi murmured, feeling his shoulder ache all over again. He hugged his textbook closer to his chest. "Of course it is."

_What the hell is going on here?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Turns out Sakusa's canon birthday is March 20th but I'm gonna pretend I didn't see that just for this fic.
> 
> Vibe for this chapter: Me searching the depths of the internet at 1 am to find out where in the damn hell the Miya Brothers lived. Narrowed it down to Kyoto or Kobe. Chose Kobe over Kyoto. Hrrgh. Me having no idea what Todai looks like and pretending that it looks somewhat like my university and also pretending that it's nearby the police station, which i pretend is nearby the prosecutors' office. THEN accidentally used the oha asa readings for the 12th of April instead of the 21st, so Sakusa's oha asa readings aren't accurate, but let's just PRETEND THEY ARE OKAY AHHH
> 
> I would love to hear all theories and feedback!


	9. A Chef's Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa and Kindaichi talk with Miya Osamu.

**April 21st 2018**

_What the hell is going on_ _?_

Kunimi frowned at Risa's retreating back before a gentle nudge from Yachi got him to turn.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she insisted, even when she didn't sound convinced at all. "Who knows? There're probably lots of people called Oikawa Tooru. Ah...!" Yachi craned her neck, pointing to a nearby bubble tea shop. "Kunimi-kun, do you wanna maybe go for a drink? L-like, as in, something non-alcoholic," she felt the need to clarify, blushing slightly, "Since you have to see Dr. Nakamura after. Um, my treat?"

He knew what Yachi was trying to do, and appreciated the gesture. But he had to decline. "Thanks, but I'm feeling kinda tired today. I might go nap in my dorm for the next two hours or so."

Luckily, Yachi was understanding. "Of course! I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yep, see ya. Oh, that edit you posted on Picstagram... It looked pretty cool."

At that, Yachi lit up. "Thank you!"

As soon as Kunimi was back in his dorm, he flopped onto his bottom bunk bed and turned on his phone. The other guys were still out—Kindaichi was with his new boss, Sakusa, and Goshiki had said that he was spending the day at the library to brush up on some content. As for Yahaba—

 _Out on another date?_ Kunimi puffed a sigh when it didn't seem to be the case, brows furrowing at the sight of the most recent picture Yahaba had posted—the pasta from a few days back. _He still hasn't deleted my comment either. Maybe I was looking too much into things..._

Pushing aside Yahaba's strange activities for the meantime, he typed in Oikawa's full name in the search bar. Only a couple of results showed up—three legitimate accounts all from different prefectures and one account with a volleyball as the profile picture. He tapped on it.

It was a private account with three posts and around three hundred followers. According to the numbers, he followed back forty-seven people. In the biography section, it stated that he was from Tokyo and twenty-three years old.

Without batting an eyelash, Kunimi switched to his girl account, which had two hundred and six followers—Satake Mari. Then, promptly, he sent a follow request.

_Let's find out who you are, shall we?_

* * *

While Sakusa drove, Kindaichi was busy reexamining his notes. As per usual, there was little chatter between them—Sakusa didn't really waste his words on idle talk, and Kindaichi was more content to sit in silence than to flounder in an attempt to converse casually.

But, eventually, Kindaichi piped up, "Sir?"

Sakusa didn't take his eyes off from the road. "Hm?"

Perhaps a little nervously, he asked, "Do you think it's him? As in... Do you think Osamu did it?"

"I wouldn't know. We haven't talked to him yet."

Kindaichi felt his ears grow hot. "Right. Of course. Knew that."

"However," Sakusa continued, and Kindaichi cast him a sidelong glance. "I do think that Miya Osamu has connections to the culprit, even if he doesn't know it himself."

 _Connections to the culprit?_ echoed Kindaichi, in his head. _But he doesn't know it?_ Again, Kindaichi sifted through his assortment of notes, stopping his page-flipping when he came across a black and white picture that he didn't even remember printing out. It was part of an internet article, and an entire sheet of A4 paper had been used for that image. A sin in printing, probably, but the photograph—which had been taken in 2008—was curious all the same.

Despite the mediocre quality of the print-out, he could make out the figures of two twin boys who had to be Osamu and Atsumu, both of whom had been twelve years old during the time it'd been taken. There were a few more faces standing with them that he didn't recognized—the only other notable people were the two adults in the photo: the director, Shō Shinya, and a sharp-eyed man with unsmiling features; the latter was wearing a cap.

"Those episodes you said you streamed," Sakusa said offhandedly, gaze sliding to him for an instant. "There was nothing... odd about it?"

Kindaichi couldn't comprehend what he meant by 'odd'. Sure, the editing had been a little abrupt with its transitions at times, but... "No, sir. Why?"

"In Oikawa Tooru's profile, it was listed that he also participated in the KidProdigy show in 2008."

"What?!"

"And you didn't see him at all," the prosecutor continued, slowing to a stop behind another black car. There was a red light ahead. "Not even a glimpse?"

"Well," Kindaichi stuttered, "I-I didn't watch all of them. And I did skip a lot of sections."

"Loud. Extroverted. Attention-seeking and self-centered. Those were just some terms used to describe Oikawa in his file. And you didn't see him at all in the streams. A little strange, isn't it?" Sakusa finally turned to him, his eyes a appraising as well as a touch apprehensive. "Either you're more oblivious than I first guessed, or..." The light turned green, and Sakusa moved forward, fixated on the road ahead once more. "He was edited out. Those episodes you watched are from a decade ago—it's not unusual for producers to reedit them before putting them on their website. Whether its to fix overlooked mistakes or... blemishes."

 _What? Someone edited out Oikawa? But why?_ Grimly, Kindaichi focused on the fat raindrops that had landed on the windscreen—overhead, thunder boomed. _Alright, alright, let's get all the facts straight..._ God, this was giving him a headache. _Oikawa was in the KidProdigy show along with Osamu and Atsumu. But when I watched some of the episodes, he wasn't present at all, not even in the background._ He was sure he would have noticed if Oikawa had been there—it was _Oikawa_ after all. _Atsumu's out of the public eye, and Osamu's a suspect... But where does Kageyama's sister fit into all this?! Sakusa said that it was probably her blood, but there's nothing to confirm that! Gahh!_

It was too early for a crisis. Kindaichi took a deep breath. _Calm down. We'll see what this Osamu guy has to say first..._

Twenty minutes later, Sakusa entered the underground parking lot of a rather luxurious apartment building. It made Kindaichi's dorm building look like a trash heap, and the man gazed enviously up at the towering structure before it disappeared out of field of vision.

"Hey, Kindaichi-san." The man in question looked over to Sakusa as he took off his seat belt. "It wasn't easy reaching out to this guy. Don't say anything unnecessary, got it?"

Kindaichi winced, remembering how he had snapped at Semi. "Got it," he said.

"And I'll be counting on you," Sakusa added, a little quietly, as they walked toward the elevator. "To note down anything important."

Kindaichi patted his blazer pocket, feeling for his notepad. "Yessir."

Sakusa sprayed the lift buttons with his bottle of disinfectant before pressing the appropriate button, Kindaichi unable to help himself from ogling at the sight. He wondered if he would ever get used to Sakusa's need for excessive cleanliness—it would probably come with time, he supposed. The doors dinged open after fifteen seconds, and the two men stepped into a spacious hallway.

"This way," guided Sakusa, heading toward the left end of the hall. Kindaichi hurried after him.

 _He must be freakin' loaded,_ Kindaichi thought as he observed the place. _Guess it comes with the celebrity status._

It felt like they had walked a long time before finally arriving in front of Osamu's door. Sakusa knocked once, and Kindaichi could feel his heart pounding with anticipation in his chest.

What happened next was almost surreal to him. The same black-haired chef that he always saw on TV whenever Goshiki was in the dorm—the very same one—opened the door. Height-wise, Kindaichi had a few inches on him, but the man was intimidating all the same.

"Was wonderin' when you two would come," Osamu said in lieu of greeting, standing aside. "Come on in. Cake's almost done."

"Thank you," Sakusa replied, polite.

They took their shoes off and followed him inside.

Compared to Semi, Kindaichi thought, Osamu seemed really laid-back, especially when he went over to his kitchenette—which was just a few pots and pans away from being a full-blown kitchen—and opened up his oven to retrieve an ostentatiously large cake. He didn't bother with icing or slathering a glaze over it—he merely brushed the top of it with milk and sprinkled some icing sugar on it.

"Take a seat, you two," Osamu called over his shoulder, seemingly unaffected by their presence.

"Actually, Miya-san," Sakusa began, "I'd rather we skip the cake and talk right now. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can resume your baking."

"Ah, baking," Osamu muttered. "Right, baking..." Kindaichi could only see the back of his head from where he and Sakusa were seated on his couch, but he could vividly imagine him rolling his eyes. "You sure you don't want some?"

He finally turned, and Kindaichi blinked in surprise at how straight his face was—it was a deadpan icy enough to rival Sakusa's expression under the mask. It hadn't really registered to him at the door, but... _Funny. He seems a lot more charismatic on TV. I guess things really aren't what they seem like on screen..._

"We're sure," Sakusa answered coolly.

"Fine, fine. No beating 'round the bush." Osamu sat down adjacent to Kindaichi on the singular egg-shaped seat. "You two don't really look like cake guys, anyway, so that was a waste of time."

 _His eyes are kinda dead, aren't they?_ Kindaichi shifted in his seat. Even _Sakusa_ had more light in his eyes than him, though it was a close competition. He chalked it up to the stress and pressure of the entertainment industry.

"Waste of time?" repeated Sakusa, cautious. "And why would that be?"

Osamu yawned. "I'm not a cake fan. Don't hate it, but _eh_."

Sakusa raised an eyebrow. "But you're a dessert chef."

"I am aware."

The most tense stare-off Kindaichi had ever had the misfortune of witnessing ensued.

"Well, that's weird," Sakusa stated, rather blunt in his delivery.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Osamu smirked slightly. "But anyway—what can I do for you officers?"

It was time to get down to business.

Kindaichi flipped to an empty page in his notepad, ready to record anything that might be crucial.

"We just have some questions we'd like to ask you, Miya-san."

"Sure, hit me."

Sakusa went straight for the meat of the issue. "Does the name 'Oikawa Tooru' mean anything to you?"

Osamu didn't answer immediately, humming in thought. Then, he said, "Yeah, it does, actually. He and I knew each other as kids, kinda." He crossed his arms, sighing. "When was it again? 2008? 2009? I knew 'im back then, from KidProdigy. It was one of those kids cooking competitions."

 _So Oikawa_ was _there._ Kindaichi penned that down.

"I didn't know 'im well, though," Osamu went on. "He was just another face in the crowd for me."

"And with the other children?" asked Sakusa. "Was he more than 'just another face'?"

"Could you 'scuse me for a second?" Without waiting for a response, Osamu went over to his fridge and took out a wrapped rice ball. Then he came back and sat down. "Sorry 'bout that. I was hungry."

Sakusa's gaze was flinty. "I see."

Osamu took a big bite out of his snack before swallowing. "Oikawa... He was a pretty annoying jerk-face. But he wasn't the worst there." He paused his brows creasing as if he were remembering something particularly unpleasant. "What about him?"

"He's dead," Sakusa informed him.

Yes, he was dead, wasn't he? Maybe before it would have snapped something inside him, but Kindaichi just let it slide. After all, it was the fact of the matter—Oikawa Tooru was dead. What had been raw and painful just weeks ago had now turned into a dull ache.

Osamu almost choked on his rice. "What? Dead? Wait a sec, yer kiddin' me, right?"

The prosecutor's voice was splintering ice. "Do I look like I'm joking? But in any case," he exhaled sharply, "He was murdered at eighteen years old. And we have reason to believe that you might be able to help us with finding out who did it."

Osamu nodded slowly, taking another huge bite out of his rice ball. "So if yer comin' to me... You think someone in the show made 'im kick the bucket?"

"Exactly."

"'Kay then. Then... talk to me, Sakusa-san. I'll answer yer questions."

Sakusa didn't waste anymore time. "What were you doing on November fourteenth, 2012?"

"2012, huh...?" Contemplatively, Osamu chewed on his rice ball. "Well, from early November to early December, we had a break in filming. This was 'cause we had to film through Christmas, so they gave us our break early. Mom didn't wanna go home to see dad, naturally," he scoffed a little at that, "so we spent the break on set."

"And the set location?"

"Sapporo."

 _So he was nowhere near Sendai when Oikawa died,_ Kindaichi thought as he wrote it down.

"Were you still in Sapporo on December fifth of that year?"

"Yep—we were there up to the tenth, I think. Check my passport if ya don't believe me."

They proceeded with the interrogation. Osamu's story about his whereabouts checked out—Sakusa got Kindaichi to search for the show that had aired during Christmas in 2012, and, sure enough, it existed. It turned out, though, that only a few select people were allowed to leave the filming location during break.

"Were any staff or cast members missing during the break?" asked Sakusa. He reached into his bag for a bottle of water, pulling his mask down for the first time since they had arrived.

Osamu blinked at the sight, curious, before answering, "Yeah, but it's usually like that. We have a lot of staff members, so not all of 'em are on set at the same time. Eh... If you wanna know, there should be official records sayin' who was here and who wasn't, but I don't have 'em."

"That's fine," Sakusa pressed, "But was there anyone notable who wasn't present?"

"Huh, well. Director Shō went down to Tokyo to visit his family, and Manager Chen flew back to China to see his girlfriend." Osamu shrugged. "I don't remember who else."

 _Manager Chen?_ The picture he had been looking at in the car flashed through his mind, and Kindaichi yanked it out of the pile, summoning all of his courage to ask, "Ah, excuse me, Miya-san?" The chef's hooded eyes shifted over to him. Kindaichi showed him the photo, pointing at the man with the hawk-like eyes beside Director Shō. "Is this Manager Chen?"

"Heh." Osamu's smirk was back. "Yeah, that's 'im alright—I ain't forgetting that ugly mug anytime soon. Back then, all he did was glare at us kids whenever we stepped outta line."

"Could you elaborate?" Sakusa requested, his interest piqued.

"Well, he couldn't _do_ much. We were kids, too—bratty, whiny kids. If we broke something, yelled, cried, or behaved badly, he'd scold us. Worst thing about 'im, though, was that he played _favorites_." Osamu frowned. "There was this one girl. Hanae Miyo. She was the one Manager Chen yelled at the least, and he'd always bring her snacks from the staff room and talk with her whenever we took a break from filming."

"Grooming?" Kindaichi couldn't help but say, looking a little sick from the thought.

"Dunno, really. He never made any inappropriate moves on her. At least not in front of us. Dunno where she is now, either—we didn't keep in contact after the show."

Kindaichi wasn't sure how long they were there for. But by the time the interview was starting to come to a close, he had filled out pages and pages of his notepad.

"Just one more thing before we go," Sakusa told him, voice as steady as always. It was impressive to Kindaichi, actually, how he had managed to talk for so long without ever wavering. The implications of Manager Chen's behavior was rather disturbing, after all, and it made Kindaichi glad that Sakusa had declined Osamu's offer for cake.

Osamu's answers revealed nothing strange or out of the ordinary about Oikawa, which was disheartening, but to be expected considering how they hadn't interacted much during filming.

"Yeah?" said Osamu, leaning back into his egg-shaped chair.

"You haven't mentioned your brother once. Miya Atsumu." Osamu's default deadpan twisted into something less friendly at Sakusa's question, but he remained unfazed. "Well? What happened to your brother? Did he bend under the pressure?"

Obviously agitated, Osamu turned his gaze away from Sakusa, choosing to glower balefully at the pristine walls of his apartment instead. "Assuming you've done your research, officers," he said tautly, "You should know that our parents split up. Dad and 'Tsumu stayed behind in Kobe, and me and mom... We went traveling around Japan with Director Shō. I haven't talked with 'Tsumu for years."

"Would Atsumu have known Oikawa better than you?"

Osamu scoffed, though it sounded strained. "For sure. That guy liked to annoy everyone. But me? I just wanted to get shit done. Yer better off talking to him about this stuff instead." His gaze darkened. "But if not... Come back another day. I'm done answering questions."

Kindaichi stood, but Sakusa challenged, "What about one more?"

Osamu sneered. "You really like pushin' your boundaries, don'tcha, officer?"

Sakusa didn't respond to the jibe, merely asking, "Where can we find him? Your brother."

At first, Osamu didn't answer. Then, finally, he told them gruffly, "He's livin' in Tokyo. I... I was plannin' to see him again when I found out. But my schedule's been packed lately." Pointedly, he added, "No thanks to you guys. Hey, you."

Kindaichi startled when he realized Osamu was looking straight at him. "Uh, yeah?"

"Gimme that pen and paper. I'll give you his address. And then you get the hell outta my house, got it?"

As Kindaichi and Osamu cooperated, Sakusa stood aside, watching them with flinty eyes. _He only clammed up when I brought up his twin._ He knew that if they pushed Osamu for more answers, they would not get them so easily. _I'll make another appointment in a few days, once he's cooled his head._ In the meantime, though...

"Thanks," Kindaichi said, taking back his notepad and pen from the chef. "Sorry for bothering you."

"We'll leave now," Sakusa affirmed, already making plans to see Atsumu between now and the next time they met with Osamu. "Thank you for your time, Miya-san."

Osamu grunted, going over to the entrance and opening the door for them. As soon as they were outside, the door slammed shut behind them.

"So," Kindaichi started on their way down to the car park. "He's not the killer, right, sir?"

"No, I don't believe so," Sakusa said carefully. "I'm getting his alibi properly verified once we get back to the office, as well as a list of all the people who worked on the KidProdigy show. Producers, writers, cameramen, stylists, contestants... I'm betting that's where we'll find our culprit. Kindaichi," he turned to him, and Kindaichi could've sworn he almost seemed wry, "You did good today."

Immediately, Kindaichi flushed, shocked by the praise. "T-thank you, sir! I tried not to talk too much, but I couldn't help it, so I—"

"Stop rambling," Sakusa admonished, succinct. "You made the most of what you did say. Are you always this bad at taking compliments?"

"With all due respect, sir, this is _you_ we're talking about."

Sakusa cast him a look. Then, to Kindaichi's further bewilderment, he snorted. "You're the weirdest realist I've ever met."

"You think I'm a realist?"

"You seem like one. Not to mention, Scorpios are usually realists. Why—am I wrong?"

The elevator doors opened with little fanfare, and the two of them walked out and to Sakusa's car.

"I dunno," Kindaichi said honestly, putting on his seat belt. For whatever reason, he head begun to ache once more, and he made a mental note to take some medicine once he got back to his dorm. "I'm just... me."

* * *

Miya Osamu didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the closed door that separated him and the two men that had come to visit him today. Then, sighing heavily, he went back to his kitchen to examine the cake he had baked for them. _What a waste of time and energy. I'll give some of this away tomorrow._

He had almost cracked today.

Spilled secrets that would have torn everything apart.

He was just glad that he had sent them away before they could have dug any deeper.

 _'Tsumu..._ Osamu threw his phone on his bed and then flopped onto it, making sure not to crush it beneath his weight; he faced the ceiling and slung an arm over his eyes. _It's been so long without you around. Almost ten damn years..._ The years had been long and hard, but necessary. Nothing was truly _his_ , anyway—he wanted to get out of his business as soon as possible, but...

_It's all my fault._

_Everything is my fault._

Osamu shifted, his arm falling to the side as he lay on his bed like a starfish.

 _No,_ our _fault._

He grabbed his phone and turned it on, his heart growing heavy and burdensome as the smiling faces of their younger selves beamed back at him. Atsumu was holding a volleyball, while he—Osamu—had a half-eaten slice of watermelon in his hands, the red juice of the fruit smeared around his lips. It had been taken the summer of 2007, a year before the whole KidProdigy fiasco had started.

His phone pinged. A new message.

 **[Atsumu]:** he's not up to anything is he?

 **[Osamu]:** No.

Their messages were so robotic. Osamu hated it. Hated how he could never tell what his twin—if he still even had the _right_ to call him that—was thinking nowadays.

 **[Atsumu]:** k lol

 **[Atsumu]:** cya next week?

 **[Osamu]:** Uh huh

Atsumu read the message, but didn't reply.

 _It's been nearly ten years. I don't care if yer still mad at me, 'cause I ain't at you,_ was what he wanted to say. _I just want us to be brothers again._

He buried his face against a pillow, groaning into it. He didn't want to think about this anymore—all it did was make him unnecessarily agitated. Instead, Osamu swerved his thoughts into a new lane—namely, one Oikawa Tooru. A contestant from 2008 KidProdigy who hadn't really stood out to him. A contestant who was dead— _murdered_.

_Oikawa Tooru..._

A background character in his life.

_I wonder..._

_Who killed you and_ why _?_

* * *

**April 24th, 2018**

"Ah!" Yachi cried as she bumped into someone, her report for the art class she shared with Kunimi flying all over the place. Her stapler had run out of staples before she could attach the papers together, and she was on her way to the university library. The wind chose to blow at the worst moment possible, sending her spring dress flying up as well as her papers scattering all over the place. "Oh no...!"

The man who she had bumped into quickly regathered his bearings to chase her papers, his mousy brown hair becoming unkempt from the wind. "I got 'em!"

"Me too!" Yachi couldn't just stand around while this stranger did everything for her. She pushed her hair back as she hastily collected her report.

Eventually, their combined efforts paid off, and there was only one more sheet left. They reached for it at the same time, both of them startling when their fingers brushed over the final sheet of paper.

Yachi blinked, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Oh, um..."

"Cute... Ah! Sorry about that." Yahaba Shigeru chuckled, picking up the paper for her. "Here."

Shyly, Yachi took it from him and added it to her pile. She would have to rearrange it back into order at the library, where she would be safe from the wind. "Thank you for helping me."

"It's no problem." Yahaba smiled, his cheeks flushing pink. "Hey, uh..." Yachi straightened as he floundered, eyes wide with curiosity. "Um, nothing! Never mind. Have a nice day!"

With that, he left, leaving behind a nonplussed Yachi.

* * *

Seated at Cafe Pezzo and sipping a sweet, icy drink, Kunimi checked his phone, eyes at half-mast. Then he grew more awake as he opened Picstagram. Two things had happened—two things that made him sit up and narrow his eyes at his screen.

'Oikawa Tooru' had accepted Satake Mari's request.

And Woo Jun's comment on Yahaba's post had been deleted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for all the comments!
> 
> As always, would love to hear all theories and feedback!


	10. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The week passes before something dire happens...

**April 25th, 2018**

There wasn't really much for Kageyama to look forward to. His routine was mostly always the same—he'd wake up in the morning, do some exercise, attend whatever lectures or tutorials that needed attending, and then be free for most of the afternoon till the evening. He spent his free time working on his assignments, knowing that it would not be wise of him to let them pile; he also knew that he didn't really have anyone to spend his time with anyway.

It was a typical early afternoon when they spoke for the first time. Kageyama was sitting in Cafe Pezzo, typing away on his computer and occasionally pausing to wonder what the kanji equivalent of 'power of attorney' was (which he had written in hiragana). The female manager of the shop—with her fox-like face and tied back hair—was brewing coffee for an older customer, and students were coming in and out of the shop periodically.

The manager was checking something off her list when the door swung open, and Kageyama locked eyes with a man with warm brown eyes. Under the light of the afternoon sun, his hair glowed like embers, and Kageyama found himself staring for too long.

"Tch." Kageyama looked away, focusing on his work.

"Oh, Hinata, you're back!" the manager called, greeting him warmly. "That was the last delivery for the day. Good job, kiddo!"

"Thank you, Sunano-san!" Hinata joined her behind the counter. "Need me to make the coffee?"

"Nah, it's okay, I got it. Why don't you go wipe down some of the tables?"

"Yosh!"

 _What a weird guy,_ Kageyama thought as he finally found the kanji version of 'power of attorney'. _He's getting excited about wiping tables..._ From the corner of his eye, though, Kageyama watched him. The orange-haired man tackled each cleaning task with great energy and vigor—the kind that Kageyama had once exuded in his volleyball days. His index finger slammed down particularly hard on the space bar then, and he grimaced. _Volleyball,_ he reminded himself, _Is behind me now. Stop thinking about it..._

Kageyama would have been lying if he ever said that he didn't miss volleyball. For an entire chapter of his life, the sport had consumed him—had made up his motivation to get through day-to-day routines. Then middle school happened, and high school followed after—both times of his life that he would rather put behind him once and for all. But how could he? How could he when Kindaichi and Kunimi were here with him, when Miwa was still missing?

Everything just seemed so pointless sometimes.

"Excuse me," Hinata's voice broke him out of his stupor, and their gazes met once more—dark blue with comforting brown. "Do you need your table wiped?"

Once again, Kageyama turned back to his work. "Nope."

"Eh?" Hinata cocked his head. "You have muffin crumbs on your sleeve."

Kageyama lifted his arm to examine the alleged presence of muffin crumbs. Sure enough, there were some sticking to his sweater and the back of his hand. Grumbling, he shook them off, and they bounced across the table. "Fine."

Hinata grinned as he cleaned up the muffin mess. For a moment, Kageyama thought he saw a tattoo on the inside of the waiter's wrist. "You're Kindaichi-san's friend right? The one who returned his wallet?"

"What?"

"Yeah—I remember you! All scowling and broody."

Kageyama scowled fiercely.

"See! You're just proving my point. But anyway, did you find him? Did he get it back?"

"Yes and yes."

Hinata hummed, stroking his chin contemplatively. "Not very talkative, are you?"

Sunano's voice rang out across the shop. "Hinata! Don't bother our customers."

"Don't worry," Kageyama said before Hinata could apologize. An awkward silence ensued, Kageyama not having really thought about his words. _Dammit, why did I say that? He_ is _bothering me._ "He's not bothering me."

Hinata lit up.

Sunano raised an apologetic hand and continued on with her own work.

"Be right back," said Hinata, heading over to the other side of the store to finish up his cleaning duties.

For the next five minutes, Kageyama concentrated on his work again, the ice in the drink he had ordered an hour ago fully melted in the bottom of his cup. Then Hinata was back, and Kageyama was forced to look up.

"So," Hinata seemed eager to chat, "Are you a local?"

Briefly, Kageyama wondered why Hinata would lead with this sort of question. In a university like this, the first things people normally asked were names and degrees. Kageyama had had his fair share of STEM and humanities students sneer or scoff at his major, but it was no worse than anything he had experienced before. "I'm from Sendai."

"Aha! I knew it. I used to live there, y'know—"

_He talks a lot._

"—and I thought you sounded like you were from there!"

"Really?" Kageyama's interest was piqued for the first time. "You talk like a local."

At that, Hinata's lively eyes glazed over a little. There was a story, no doubt, behind his presence here. But they were just two strangers meeting properly for the first time today, and it would probably be oversharing if Kageyama heard it all right now. So he wasn't surprised when Hinata just said, "I moved here some years ago. Hmm, when was it again? It was during middle school, I think. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah! Like what school you went to and stuff."

"Karasuno High," Kageyama informed him blandly. "In Torono Town—it's near Sendai. Nothing really happened there." _Except things_ did _happen. Oikawa-san was murdered, and Iwaizumi took the blame. Miwa disappeared._

"Lucky," Hinata sighed dreamily, propping his elbows on the table. "I would've killed to live in a country town like that. My family used to live in Yukigaoka, and it was the best. Nothing ever happened—it was just a sleepy little town. I mean, back then I thought it was boring, but I kinda miss that kinda place." His nose wrinkled. "Here, it's always busy and everyone's in a hurry. Lame."

Yes—Kageyama had noticed. Always— _always_ —everyone rushed about to their next class, or next shift, or next train or bus. It was the polar opposite of the town he had grown up in—a town where most people knew each other and said hello on the streets. In this urban jungle, there was barely any time to take it easy and unwind. There was always a place to be—a meeting to attend, a taxi to catch, a dinner to get to.

"Do you miss home?" Hinata asked, voice less loud and more gentle.

 _Do I?_ For a moment, Kageyama simply looked down at his keyboard. 'Home' had so many memories for him—good and bad. Mostly bad, he had to admit, but the good ones... "Yeah," he answered in the end. "A little." A pause. "You?"

Hinata gave a short laugh. "All the time. But Tokyo isn't _so_ bad. I met a lot of my friends at my alma mater—Nekoma High."

"Oh. That's... nice." He didn't know what else to say to that.

Luckily, though, he didn't have to. Hinata stood after Sunano summoned him to the counter. "I'll see ya around. I'm Hinata, by the way. Hinata Shouyou."

 _Hinata Shouyou._ Kageyama committed that name to memory. "Kageyama Tobio."

Hinata beamed, his smile like gentle sunshine. "Alright then. See ya, Kageyama!"

And then it was back to work for them.

Eventually, Kageyama packed up his things and left.

He would get more work done at his apartment, where there were no distractions around.

* * *

When Kindaichi got back to his dorm from class, he found Goshiki splayed shirtless across the couch with a bag of chips on his toned abs. His forehead was speckled with sweat, which was unusual seeing as Kindaichi had never witnessed Goshiki exercising before. It was a miracle the bowl-cut man was even fit at all.

"Did you hit the gym for once?" Kindaichi jibed, chuckling. _What's he watching? Eh? The news? Goshiki doesn't watch the news..._ "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah?" Goshiki seemed confused. "Also," he sniffed, defensive, "What if I did go to the gym? When was the last time _you_ hit the gym, hm?"

At that, Kindaichi felt his cheeks grow a little hot. He hadn't been to the gym for a good workout since last year. "Fine—we're _both_ unfit." He knew he was just proving his point, but he felt parched for a can of beer at the moment, and went over to the fridge for some.

"I'm not _unfit_ ," Goshiki denied when Kindaichi sat down on the couch with him with his beer. "I—hey!"

Kindaichi had dipped his hand into Goshiki's bag of chips. "What? These are _ours_."

"I bought 'em with my own money!" the man huffed, snatching the snacks away. "So hands off, Kindaichi."

Out of the four of them, Goshiki was the only one who had a proper job. The other three were far too busy to work part-time, all of them taking rather intensive courses of study. If Kindaichi remembered correctly, his friend worked as a consultant at the university sports shop.

 _What else does he do?_ Kindaichi suddenly wondered, frowning at the television, which was almost drowned out by Goshiki's loud crunching. Now that he thought about it, he didn't really know much about Goshiki's personal life. They'd all come together as roommates three years ago, but Goshiki—whether the rest of them knew it or not—had always put some distance between them. He knew he had done volleyball in high school—he remembered seeing him in Shiratorizawa's tank of a team. _But what about after that?_

A day came back to him—the sixth of December in 2012, and the second day of Shiratorizawa's youth training camp. The coaches had announced that Goshiki would be pulled from the camp due to an undisclosed reason. After that, Kindaichi had never seen him again until university rolled around, and they all got the same dorm together. But he had never bothered to ask—it really was none of his business, and he generally took it upon himself to respect boundaries.

Still, though, Goshiki Tsutomu was a curious creature.

"Y'know," Goshiki said through a mouthful of chips, turning to him. "We haven't talked in a bit. You're working with that lawyer guy, right?"

"Sakusa Kiyoomi, and he's a prosecutor," corrected Kindaichi, promptly taking another sip of his beer.

"Yep, him. Did you know that he used to be rivals with Ushijima?"

Kindaichi coughed, some of his beverage having gone down the wrong pipe. "What?"

"He was the second-top ace in the country during high school," Goshiki elaborated. "Before he quit after a teammate's accident."

 _A teammate's accident?_ "Is he okay now?"

"Nope," Kindaichi almost shivered at how Goshiki's tone had become so chilly, "He _died_."

"Ah." That made more sense. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because..." Goshiki trailed off, and Kindaichi heard the crinkling of the chip packet as Goshiki's grip around the plastic tightened ever so slightly. He heaved a sigh, frustrated. "Ah, never mind. It's nothing."

 _Does it have anything to do with why you left the camp six years ago?_ Kindaichi wanted to ask. _And volleyball, too, I'm guessing?_

Then—

"He shouldn't have quit!" Goshiki burst out. "He didn't _need_ to quit."

 _He feels strongly about this. Why?_ "I mean," Kindaichi shrugged, "He was grieving? I get where he's coming from. When Oikawa died," he swallowed a lump in his throat, "A lot of us quit before high school ended, too. The death of a teammate... It's hard."

Goshiki stayed silent, seemingly considering his words. "I get it," he said tersely. "Hey, uh," Goshiki got up, brushing chip crumbs all over the floor (Kindaichi's face scrunched up when he did so), "I'm gonna go take a shower. I'm feeling pretty greasy."

"Yeah, sure, dude. Go ahead."

Once Goshiki was gone and the crumbs had been swept up, Kindaichi paid attention to the news, turning up the volume.

"This afternoon," the woman news anchor was saying solemnly. "A firearms store in Shibuya was broken into and robbed. The incident occurred while the owner was on his lunch break. It's reported that the suspect stole a single shotgun and several cartridges."

Some CCTV footage was played next, featuring the masked culprit throwing a brick through the window and climbing in. He then took the items that the anchorwoman had noted earlier before fleeing the scene quickly.

"Holy shit," Kindaichi couldn't help but say under his breath. "Who has balls big enough to rob a freakin' _gun store_?"

* * *

Shimizu Kiyoko knew that she had garnered the attention and interest of many men who worked at the public prosecutors' office. Miyuki, the other receptionist, often teased her about it, fanning herself in an affected manner to let her know she wasn't being serious in her faux jealousy. She had been asked out many times by prosecutors, paper-pushers, and janitors alike—they had stopped after word spread that she was an engaged woman. Still, though, this was a government building, and she felt quite safe and secure inside it. The men were all too professional to cross workplace boundaries, and kept a respectful relationship with her even after she denied their advances.

Recently, she had picked up some more working hours. It wasn't ideal, but her fiancé, Tanaka, had broken his leg helping their elderly neighbor carry groceries up the stairs. She would sigh whenever she thought about it, but smile as well. The couple currently lived in a small apartment which a friend of Saeko, Tanaka's older sister, had previously occupied during her time at college.

They had their own house back in Sendai, but it was simply easier to commute to work here. They were saving up to open their own sports and nutrition shop, and they had gotten their friend, Shirofuku Yukie, to help out a bit as well.

"Kiyoko-san!"

Shimizu looked up from her computer to see Miyuki—with her light blonde hair—standing on the other side of the counter, her handbag slung over her shoulder. "Oh, hello, Miyuki-san." She checked the time on the monitor. "Oh, is it your shift already?"

Miyuki nodded. "Yes. You can leave now, Kiyoko-san. Good job! I know it's not easy, haha. Nobody flirted with you today, did they?"

Shimizu shook her head.

"Good." Miyuki lifted a clenched hand, smirking. "Otherwise I would've smacked 'em. Now go, shoo! Go look after your future hubby at home."

So Shimizu packed her things up and informed Miyuki about the tasks that had to be done tonight. As Miyuki got comfortable in the chair, Shimizu glanced at the doors leading outside, apprehensive. The sun was almost set by now, and the park that she had to cross to get home was quite shadowy and intimidating. Gripped by morbid fascination all of a sudden, she wondered what kind of things awaited her in there. The lights hadn't been turned on yet—would not be until it was completely dark.

Normally, Tanaka would be here to walk her home, but...

"Kiyoko-san?" Miyuki prompted gently. "Are you okay? Do you want me to ask the security guard to walk you through the park?"

"I..." Shimizu hesitated, then shook her head again. "No, don't worry about me." She gave her friend a smile. "I'll be fine."

"Well, alright. But I'm sure," Miyuki nudged her head toward the security guard, "Ono-san won't mind helping out."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, Shimizu said goodbye to Miyuki and sashayed out of the building. With practiced ease, she walked down the stairs in her heels, only stopping to frown at the looming park. _There's no one there,_ she told herself. The man that she had been spotting lingering outside the building had not come for many weeks. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Shimizu made her way to the park.

She was jumpy the whole walk. Every time bushes and leaves rustled, she would stop and take a look around. It always turned out to be some animal or a teenage couple smooching in the dark.

Shimizu made it out of the park and into the bustling heart of the city without any trouble, which she was grateful for.

Perhaps, tonight, she would make Tanaka his favorite soup.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

She whipped around, alarm in her grey eyes. "Oh...?"

A handsome older gentleman—he was in his late thirties, probably—wearing a cap and a dark jacket was holding out a pack of tissues to her. He smiled at her, eyes curving up into deceptive half-moons. "You dropped this."

Instantly, wariness consumed her. But she tried to reason it out—that pack of tissues had been in her skirt pocket. She took the tissues from him. "Thank you, sir." Shimizu tried to smile back at him, but it was a great effort. _I feel like I know him from somewhere... Was he the one following me? But why would he approach me with all these people around?_

"Well," the man took his leave, waving, "Have a nice night."

 _Maybe I'm just being paranoid._ Shimizu's arm shook as she pocketed her tissues again. Regardless, she made a promise to herself to stay more vigilant.

She walked a few steps before turning her head, searching for him.

But he had already disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

A day.

It had taken a day for the pretender to reply to his message. Nonchalantly, Kunimi opened up the Picstagram app on his phone, his face unchanging as he checked his notifications. Kindaichi was sitting with Goshiki at the kitchen island, both of them perched on the bar stools. They were working in silence, completing work that had to be done. Occasionally, they would talk, but they were mostly focused on their tasks.

He didn't know where Yahaba was, but he would probably be back soon. Yahaba usually notified them if he was going to be out later than dinnertime so Goshiki wouldn't waste his time cooking his portion.

Tonight's dinner would be simple according to Goshiki—just some chicken-flavored rice with a runny egg on top.

So that left Kunimi to his own devices, and he sat on the couch in the living area, half-checking his phone and half-watching a Godzilla movie on the television.

 **[Oikawa]:** Hey~!

 **[Oikawa]:** You're right, the ramen they serve is really good :)

Kunimi's fingers were lightning.

 **[Satake]:** cool! :D

 **[Satake]:** i rilly wanna check it out hahaha

 **[Satake]:** but...

 **[Satake]:** i don't have a boyfriend and all my friends are busy studying :T

Kunimi's brow twitched when it showed that the impostor had read his message, but didn't reply. _Did I come on a little too strongly? This is how girls talk, right?_ Maybe he should've asked Yachi for help, but he didn't want to drag her down this never-ending rabbit hole of lies. She didn't deserve that. He looked up—on screen, Godzilla destroyed a building using the mere action of turning around.

He flopped to his side, breathing out. Then his eyes shifted upward to see Kindaichi and Goshiki upside-down at the counter. Goshiki was in his pajamas, while Kindaichi remained in his outside clothes.

Goshiki was wearing socks, Kunimi noticed. Goshiki _always_ wore socks.

And maybe it was just plain weird of him to take note of, but Kunimi had never in his life seen what Goshiki's feet looked like. Inwardly, he scoffed. _Of course he wouldn't let us see._ His entire body tensed as he remembered _that night_ —when he had caught Goshiki in the bathroom with—

The front door rattled before opening, and Yahaba stepped inside, soaking wet. He must have been caught out in the rain.

"Man," Yahaba exhaled sharply.

"I _told_ you you should've brought an umbrella with you," Kunimi said unhelpfully without taking eyes off his phone, which he had brought up to his face again when the door opened noisily.

Just for that, Yahaba threw his wet coat on Kunimi, who squawked in protest. "The weatherman said it'd be cloudy with no rain."

"You trust the weatherman?" Kunimi rolled up the coat and tossed it to the other side of the couch.

"I did until today," Yahaba grumbled, falling onto the couch next to Kunimi.

"What were you doing anyway?"

"Oh, y'know," Yahaba's voice became airy then, "Taking a walk."

"Eh?" Kunimi raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were on another date."

Yahaba's cheeks brightened. "Ah, yeah, about that... I think I like someone."

 _What? He likes someone? That's a first. Normally, everybody flocks to him instead of the other way round._ "Oh?" Kunimi feigned non-interest—he didn't want to seem _too_ invested in Yahaba's love life, especially with all the strange things that had been happening lately. "Who is she?"

Yahaba groaned, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. "I didn't get her name. Shit, I'm stupid."

Kunimi patted his back. "There there. What does she look like then?"

"Super cute."

"You're gonna have to be more descriptive, senpai."

Yahaba shifted so that they were facing each other. "Blonde hair," he started. "Big, brown eyes... Um... Really cute smile? She's on the short side."

No surprise there. Everybody in the dorm knew that Yahaba's type was small, dainty girls or tall, tough guys. There was really no in-between. Kunimi opened his mouth to respond, but Yahaba wasn't finished.

"Ah, one more thing! She was wearing a ponytail with a blue star hair tie!"

Instantly, Kunimi's eyes widened. _Wait... a blue star hair tie? No... It can't be!_ Yachi—the girl he liked was _Yachi_. No offence to Yachi, but nobody else their age would ever use such a childish hair tie. Not to mention, the rest of Yahaba's description matched the girl.

Unfortunately, Yahaba noticed his reaction. "Do you know who she is?"

"I... Yeah, I do." Already, the gears in his head had started to turn. _Shit, this just got complicated._ He didn't want Yachi to be involved at all with this mess. _I don't have a choice now._ "Yeah," Kunimi repeated, as if to affirm his statement. "We share a class together. Her name is Yachi Hitoka."

"Yachi Hitoka..." Yahaba grinned stupidly as Godzilla breathed a huge flare at his opponent. "Compassionate flower... It suits her. Kunimi!" Yahaba grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, trying not to get too excited. "Can you set me up with her?! Nothing big—just a date!"

Kunimi groaned. "No. But what I _can_ do," he added when Yahaba's face fell. "Is let you meet her."

"Yes! You're the best, man."

Once that was settled, they watched Godzilla for a bit before Yahaba got up, claiming he desired a shower before the rainwater gave him a fever.

"Hey, wait," Kunimi called after him. "Uh..." _How do I even ask this?_ "You're okay, right?"

"Yeah? Why?"

"You've been acting a little weird."

Yahaba frowned. "Is that so?"

"Just tell me if anything's wrong."

Yahaba waved him off. "Yep. Don't worry, Kunimicchi. I'm _fine_."

The bathroom door closed behind him.

_Kunimicchi...?_

Kunimi grabbed his phone tighter.

 _That's what_ Oikawa _used to call me._

* * *

**April 26th, 2018**

Spectacles perched on his nose, he leaned against the couch, staring blankly at anywhere but the clicking cameras. For their spring collection, he wore a pair of black suspenders and a light blouse unbuttoned to the third button to show off part of his slender chest. His shoes were business-like and sharp-ended—not uncomfortable by any means, but he preferred sneakers. The lighting source was coming from his left, and he had to resist the urge to ask the staff to tone it down a little.

"Chin up, chin up," the lead photographer instructed.

He did as he was told, holding his head a little higher.

"Perfect!"

He didn't know how long the shoot took, but he felt the tension ebbing away from his shoulders when they finished.

"Good job," said the lead photographer, a staff member coming up behind him to give him a bottle of water.

Gratefully, he took it, chugging down half of it.

"How's your neck?" someone asked.

He palmed the nape of his neck. "It's fine," he said flippantly. "Doesn't hurt too much."

Suddenly, the doors banged open, and a woman with long white hair and stormy grey eyes strutted in, her long scarf whipping behind her. Trying to catch up to her was her manager.

"Did you hear?" she said breathlessly, either oblivious to how the crowd parted like the red sea or completely ignoring it. She showed him her phone.

"What is it, Oishi?" A little annoyance seeped into his tone as he took the device from his fellow model, his other hand running through his stiff blond hair.

Oishi Ryoka crossed her long, slender arms. "See for yourself."

His eyes became round as he read the news article. "This..."

"Miya Osamu," Oishi affirmed, "Is dead.

_"Tsukishima."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Buh-bum. Here comes the salty prick 0u0
> 
> Thank you for all comments! I love reading them all!
> 
> Any theories/discussion and sharing the story are always welcome!!


	11. Crashing Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Japan is in uproar after Osamu's death, and the Owl-face of Miyagi makes her entrance...

_"Wakatoshi-kun, how did you get so good?"_

_"... By practicing a lot."_

_"Besides that."_

_Ushijima paused, glancing skyward momentarily._

_"Because I got lucky."_

* * *

**April 26th, 2018**

Sakusa Kiyoomi had always taken the concept of luck with a grain of salt. It wasn't like him to believe that things were predetermined or locked in the constraints of destiny. Maybe, he could reluctantly admit to himself that there was some sense in something as abstract as luck being affected by certain items or star alignments, but that was as far as he would go.

If he wanted an outcome, he would work for it instead of sitting around, waiting for the perfect astral positions to grant him his wishes. Things happened. No mattered how hard he prepared, he would never be ready for everything. And he could accept that.

What he now had a hard time accepting, however, was how things could have become this fucked up in proportions.

He got the call at eight o'clock in the morning.

By nine o'clock, he was at the crime scene, parking his car on a street adjacent to Miya Osamu's expensive apartment building.

 _Shit,_ Sakusa cursed in his head, the outer garment of his suit whipping behind him as he stalked toward the first face he recognized—Inspector Sawamura Daichi. _We saw him a week ago, and he's dead?!_ "Inspector!" he said curtly, causing Daichi to turn.

"Prosecutor." Daichi dipped his chin slightly in greeting.

For the past couple of weeks, he and Kindaichi had been moving blindly in a fog. It was only subsequent to their meeting with Miya Osamu that things had started to clear. Just the fact that he was now _dead_ made his suspicions run even wilder.

_Six years. Six years since you ruined everything._

_And now you've done it again._

Sakusa was _pissed_.

Once again, it was like he had been dragged back to the half-way point of this monumental task. Just when he had started seeing the end of it, _this_ happened.

Inwardly, he seethed, fury burning through his veins like fire. But on the outside, he kept his composure, his posture as tall and as rigid as a mountain's. "What's happening with the investigation?"

"Well, sir," the good inspector crossed his arms across his broad chest, "Miya Osamu's body was discovered this morning by a building officer who had come up to deliver a package. The door was unlocked, and the officer called police after finding the victim dead in his bed. We don't have an official autopsy report yet, but the coroner and his team estimate the time of death as between two to four in the morning."

"Cause of death?" Sakusa asked.

Daichi sighed. "The perp slashed his throat while he was still asleep—at least it _looks_ that way. We seized the package—it was a rice cooker. It should be back at headquarters getting examined right now. I'll take you to the crime scene."

"Thank you."

Side by side, the two men walked, nobody bothering them as they passed.

"A building like this has to have security cameras," Sakusa stated, Daichi nodding at the logic. "Have the tapes been secured yet?"

"The team's working on it."

As they entered Osamu's home, Sakusa found himself lost in his own head. It was unusual—normally, he kept his wits about him, but today... _Why now?_ Blankly, Sakusa stared at Osamu's body, pale and lifeless. Around them, police officers moved about carefully, recording anything that might have been incriminating. Cameras snapped, voices chattered in low murmurs, and there was a task team by the bed talking about how to move the body into a bag without tearing the throat open further. _Tch. Why am I even asking that? Isn't it obvious?_ His gut clenched. _We got too close_.

And Miya Osamu had paid the price.

 _You panicked, didn't you?_ Sakusa followed Daichi through the room, taking great care not to step on the floor markers. It was a rather cramped space they had to work in. _When you realized that we were snooping._

But that begged the question—who would've known? Who would've known that Sakusa and Kindaichi had visited him that day to ask such sensitive questions?

"Sawamura," Sakusa said abruptly. "There could be a possibility of the room being bugged."

"We considered that, too," Daichi affirmed, glancing warily around their surroundings. "So far, nothing's come up though. If there were any listening devices, there's a possibility the perp removed them before leaving."

 _Dammit._ "Yeah, it makes sense." Sakusa exhaled sharply. "What a shitty day..."

Sakusa spoke with Daichi for the next ten minutes, and left the crime scene with the promise of evidence coming his way. If there was one person on the force he knew he could trust, it was Sawamura Daichi. He was level-headed, steadfast, and had a healthy thirst for justice. They had met a few years ago, when Sakusa had just passed the National Bar Exam, and Sawamura had been training at the police academy.

 _I'll take this case,_ Sakusa decided; it was well within his right. By memory alone, he remembered that Oikawa's cause of death had been from blood loss—a cut in his neck that sliced an artery and some of his throat as well. The MOs were unoriginal, but similar—and both victims shared a connection; they had both been contestants on the KidProdigy show in 2008. _I'll find him, and I'll make him confess._ He could only trust himself with this case—he was glad he had been called in before any other prosecutor.

Someone had died.

Once again, someone had died at the hands of the killer—unable to be protected.

His phone rang as soon as he got into his car, his mask pulled down so that it hugged the soft underside of his chin. He checked the number. It was Kindaichi's. He must have heard the news—reporters had already started to appear, and he had no doubt the chef's death had already been leaked to the public. Not particularly in the mood to deal with his intern right now, he declined the call and messaged him instead.

 **[Sakusa]:** Talk to Okazaki.

He didn't wait for a reply, putting his phone in his car's charging port.

"Josephine," Sakusa said, and the screen lit up. "Set a route back to the office."

"Understood, sir," the disembodied AI voice buzzed.

First, when he got back, he would inform his direct superior—the Chief Prosecutor—of these circumstances. Once he started something, he would see it through to the end, or else it would bug him for the rest of his life. The morning rush hour was starting to dwindle, but there were still a lot of cars on the road. It was almost twelve in the afternoon by the time he reached the Public Prosecutors Office, where he knew Kindaichi was probably heading to.

"Hello, sir," Miyuki the receptionist greeted him as he walked inside, fiddling with his hands by bending them so that his fingers touched the inside of his wrist—a habit of his. He noticed the woman pointedly ignoring the action, and ignored her in return.

In the elevator, on his way up, Sakusa's phone rang. Irritably, he made to swipe it left, thinking it was Kindaichi again, but then paused. _Okazaki?_ Intrigued, he answered the call and put it on speakerphone. "Hello? Okazaki?"

 _"Oh, thank goodness,"_ Okazaki sounded a bit out of breath, _"Sir, you have to come back_ now _."_

"I'll be there very soon. What's wrong?"

 _"She's here,"_ Okazaki's voice was a whisper that he barely heard, _"The Prosecutor-General, the owl-faced woman... She's_ here _and she wants to see_ you _."_

Sakusa hung up then, taking a deep breath.

"Fuck," he muttered.

* * *

Kindaichi couldn't believe his eyes when he read the news on Tweeter this morning. Not only did he almost knock his breakfast cereal off the dining table, but he almost threw it up in the sink, too.

"Hey, what's up?" Kunimi called from his bed, having awoken to see Kindaichi walking around the kitchen island with mild panic. Despite having a class starting in a little under half an hour, he didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry.

Yahaba emerged from the bathroom then, zipping his pants up. "Which one of you guys took a giant shit in the toilet? You _know_ you spray the VIStink _before_ you do the deed."

"Goshiki did, and he's already gone to class," Kunimi replied without looking at him. "Oi, Kindaichi. You okay?"

"He's dead!" Kindaichi couldn't keep it in any longer—the words tumbled out of his mouth and he slowed to a stop after almost walking into a bar stool. "Miya Osamu is dead!"

There were mixed reactions—Kunimi's eyes widened, while Yahaba tilted his head, seemingly lost.

"You're joking," Kunimi found his voice first, "Damn... What happened?"

"It's too early to tell," Kindaichi told them, apprehension gripping every single nerve in his body. _God, don't tell me... Don't tell me the killer got to him!_ There was the possibility that it was something else that had caused Osamu's untimely death, but the chance of it being a murder ate away at him. _What do I do? I know! I should call Sakusa._ Nearly dropping his phone, Kindaichi hastily dialed the number, wondering briefly if his boss even had his number saved.

"Miya Osamu," Yahaba said, thoughtful, "He was a chef, right? The one Goshiki watched all the time. Aw, man, he's gonna be so disappointed..."

Kunimi sat up, ducking his head so that it wouldn't hit the top bunk. A curse of being tall. "Miya Osamu, hm? What a time to die..." He leaned under the bed and grabbed his phone from the charging station in the wall, opening Picstagram straight away. He checked Osamu's profile. The last time he had posted on his feed was two days ago, as per his usual pattern. Already, fans were commenting all sorts of distressed messages on his most recent picture.

 **_yangri** WAIT WTF

 **the_blue_dandelion** Please don't tell me this is real! I love his cooking show also he was super hot. Why do all the hot ones have to go?

 **denki_kokoro** no... this can't be... ily you can't be dead 😭😭😭

 **enagyaru** Is the rumor true?

 **.minacutie** BRO ARE YOU ALIVE DM ME PLEASE! @Miya_Osamu_Official please!

 **asami.m.** lol you guys will believe anything won't you? media sheeple 🗿

 **mira_mira_on_the_wall** RIP Miya Osamu. I had such a wonderful time working with your recipes... We've lost another angel to this cold earth :(

 **kopifoo** 🙏

 **hoshiumi_k** **(✔)** ...

Curious by this development, Yahaba looked down at his watch once before putting his messenger bag on the couch and sitting down next to it. He must have decided that he had some time to spare before leaving for class. He probably would not stay long—in his last year of study for his own Juris Doctor in the law department, he could not afford to miss a class. "Is this that big a deal?"

"'Talk to Okazaki'," Kindaichi read aloud from his phone. Noise exploded from his lips—all frustration. "Damn him!"

"He's probably busy," appeased Kunimi. "Investigating the crime scene..."

"Ah." It clicked for Yahaba. "You and Sakusa-san were investigating this guy, huh?" His brows creased, anxious. "And now he's dead? If you ask me, that's no coincidence." He paused, then added reluctantly, "The killer... What if he got Miya like he got Oikawa?"

"I hope not," Kindaichi expressed, a crestfallen look on his face as he scrolled through Tweeter again. "God, that'd be the worst. Another person dead because of this guy..." He glanced up at them, almost pleadingly. "That'd mean we failed. We failed to protect another person. Argh!" He hissed in pain, his phone clattering to the tiled floor as he clutched his head.

Immediately, Kunimi got up from his bed and went over to him. "Kindaichi, what's wrong? Tell me," he urged. "Does your head hurt?"

"Ah, there should be some headache pills in the cabinet," Yahaba said, coming around to show them. He picked up Kindaichi's phone, examined it quickly for any damage, and put it on the counter. "I saw them while getting my hair multivitamins the other night."

"I'll be fine soon," Kindaichi uttered through gritted teeth. Not even the warm hand of Kunimi on his back could ease the tension in his body. "Shit... I've been having these dumb migraines..."

"This has happened more than once?" Kunimi frowned. "Since when?"

"Ugh..." Kindaichi grabbed the cup of water that Yahaba had poured him. "Since, like, a few weeks ago. I think. I'm not really sure."

"Migraines..." Kunimi trailed off. Then he grabbed the medicine, which was sitting innocently on the counter, and popped a pill out of the packaging for his best friend. Kindaichi swallowed the pill with the medicine. "Huh. Okay then."

Even with the ache squeezing his head like a too-tight band, Kindaichi could sense Kunimi's uncertainty, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly what was bothering him. _What are you really thinking...?_ Soon enough, the pain had almost completely ebbed away.

"I gotta go," Yahaba declared. "Feel better soon, Kindaichi." Laughing affectedly, he slapped Kunimi on the back. "Fight, Seijoh boys!"

"Thanks," Kindaichi murmured after the front door closed. "Ah, man..." Groaning, he slumped onto the bar stool and over the kitchen island. "Things were going great, too... Now another person's dead, and the killer's still on the run. Kunimi," his dark eyes met his friend's equally dark ones, "What if never find him? What if he just keeps killing and killing more people?"

Lightly, Kunimi flicked his forehead. "That's ridiculous," he reprimanded mildly. "First of all, we don't know yet if he was murdered or not. It could be natural causes for all we know. Second of all, you and that prosecutor are too smart and determined to let this freak slip through your fingers another time." Kunimi squeezed his shoulder. "Kindaichi. You can do it. You'll only fail... if you quit now."

Kindaichi smiled crookedly. "Yeah, you're right. It's just frustrating as hell. Just when we were getting close..."

"He's a slippery one," agreed Kunimi. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Speaking of slippery, I'm gonna get marked absent if I don't leave soon. I should probably go freshen up."

" _Go_ already."

"Alright, alright."

Kindaichi chuckled, picking up his phone. He had morning class soon as well.

Sakusa and Okazaki could wait.

Whatever they were doing right now, Sakusa had made it pretty clear that Kindaichi wasn't needed there.

* * *

Before the afternoon rolled around, the rumors were all over the internet: Miya Osamu had passed away last night. News of his alleged death ran rampant across social media, with many internet personalities quick to jump aboard the grief train, offering sweet and honeyed condolences on Tweeter and LINE. Some Japanese celebrities—voice actors, TV show hosts, models, sportsmen and athletes—reached out as well, expressing their sorrow in a much more eloquent manner than the majority of netizens.

At one o'clock, Director Shō made a statement in a press conference, his social medias having blown up from people demanding an explanation. Fresh from class, Kindaichi and Kunimi tuned in at Cafe Pezzo, along with the rest of the staff and customers. Unnoticed by the pair, Kageyama sat at another table, bright blue eyes fixed on the single television hooked on the wall. Manager Sunano and Hinata were watching as well, the fox-like manager holding a plate of hot waffles in her hands.

"Take this to table five," the woman whispered to her orange-haired worker, who nodded and proceeded to do so in record speed.

Director Shō looked to be in his early to mid fifties, grey streaking his otherwise black hair like a magpie's feathers. As expected for a distinguished man of his age and status, he wore it slicked back. The poor man appeared to have been dragged out of bed at an early hour and hastily made-up by an inexperienced intern.

 _"I'll keep this short and concise,"_ Shō began brusquely.

He was struggling to keep a professional mask up. Obviously, he would have gotten the news at short notice, and in a rather unceremonious manner, too. The netizens probably would've have gotten to him before the police did.

_"Yes, it's true. Osamu Miya is dead."_

From behind the video camera, photographers clicked photos of the shabby director.

_"I am taking no questions for now. A further statement will be released in the future. In regards to the nature of his death, I will leave that up to the police to disclose. That is all."_

"Well," Kunimi said, breaking the silence between him and Kindaichi. "That last sentence pretty much confirmed everything."

Kindaichi sighed, feeling a crushing weight in his chest. "I thought so... Kunimi," he noticed that his friend had already gotten his phone out, "Tell me what they're saying, I don't wanna look."

"Uh huh. Sure."

As Kunimi searched, Kindaichi finally took notice of Kageyama's presence on the other end of the room. Awkwardly, their gazes met, neither of them sure of what to do with one another. Then Kageyama broke the staring, standing up from his table and heading toward the door.

"Kageyama!" Hinata from the counter suddenly shouted, many pairs of eyes—including Kindaichi and Kunimi's—shifting toward him. Kageyama startled, brow flattening in a glare. "My break is in twenty minutes! Wanna hang after?"

"Hinata, inside voice," Sunano said as she walked past the front of the counter with two cups of coffee in her hand. She sounded as if she had reminded him of his many times before, which was unsurprising.

"I'm busy," Kageyama called from the door before leaving.

"Geh!"

Sunano tittered. "Better luck next time, Hinata."

Shoving that strangeness aside, Kindaichi turned his attention back to Kunimi. "What are they saying?"

"Eh. Nothing interesting," reported Kunimi. "Some people are memeing him. Haha. This one made him look like the Chinese party leader."

" _Kunimi_."

"Fine, fine. There are some guys looking super deep into it. Saying he only looks upset because he's an entertainment tyrant and losing Miya, his biggest star, put a huge dent in his revenue collection and reputation." Kunimi scrolled down. "Some are defending him. Whoa—people even dug out Miya's mom's Tweeter account and are offering condolences for her son's death. Damn, people are the worst. It's mostly memes, though. Lots and lots of memes... What the fuck? Someone edited Shō into a magpie with its feathers puffed out."

Kindaichi was flabbergasted. "Memes? A guy just died and another guy was forced to give a statement without even processing it first, and all people are doing is making _memes_?"

"Participatory culture," said Kunimi. "As long as they weren't affected too much by it, people will meme the hell outta anything. People don't care about what happens to other people until it's them on the receiving end. Obviously, this is a big event, so people like to make themselves heard and feel included by taking advantage of it. Memes are just one way of doing it. Other ways are like how all these celebrities we've never even heard of are putting sad messages on their social medias. It's hard to tell what's genuine and what isn't."

"Geez." Kindaichi frowned. "What a cutthroat response."

"It's the truth."

"Yeah, but it's not a nice one."

"Not a lot of truths are nice," Kunimi said, blasé. "Why do you think lies exist?"

Kindaichi did not answer.

* * *

**Some hours ago**

Okazaki Hana stood stiffly at the back of Sakusa's office, as if she were trying to blend into the off-white wallpaper. Silence reigned alongside a faux tranquility in the room as the Prosecutor-General herself—Hirakawa Noriko—sat in Sakusa's chair, her eyes closed; she was sipping a cup of tea that she had requested Okazaki prepare. With her princess-style bangs and her long, black hair, Hirakawa appeared to be the quintessential Japanese housewife—a typical _Yamato nadeshiko-esque_ sort of woman.

Okazaki had only ever seen her in passing maybe once or twice, and she had been working under Sakusa for two years. That was not unusual—as Prosecutor-General of Japan, she headed the Supreme Public Prosecutors Office, and supervised all the staff of the Public Prosecutors Office. The only person in the prosecuting section of the criminal justice system above her was the Minister of Justice himself.

Feminine and delicate as she were, Okazaki refused to let her guard down around her. There was sure to be more to this woman than it seemed—underneath her beautiful exterior was a woman with _bite_. That, Okazaki was sure of.

Hirakawa's eyelids fluttered open, revealing ethereal amber eyes with slits for pupils. While her beauty was certainly traditional—she had a few defining features on her face that defied the norm. The most captivating ones were her brilliant eyes, while the most obtrusive one was her strong, slightly hooked nose.

 _So that's why he calls her Owl-face_ , Okazaki thought to herself, hoping that Sakusa would get here sooner. Half of her wondered if he had run away, but she quickly dismissed that idea—Sakusa wasn't a _runner_.

"Your tea is truly wonderful," Hirakawa crooned, making the hairs on the back of Okazaki's neck stand up.

"Thank you, ma'am," Okazaki said shortly. "I'm glad you enjoy it."

"Thank you for looking for after me, Okazaki-san. Though I suppose you have to deal with so much more with _him_." The owl-faced woman let out a high little laugh that made Okazaki want to tear her hair out. "Speaking of Sakusa-san, when will he be here?"

"I got off the phone with him not long ago. He'll be here soon. If I may," added Okazaki, pointedly, "We weren't anticipating your arrival until tomorrow." _You came on such short notice. The gall of you...!_

Hirakawa's cheeks lifted as she smiled with all her teeth. "Well, when I heard the tragic news, I knew I just had to come down."

Before Okazaki could respond, the door opened, and Sakusa appeared, thinly veiled vexation present on his half-covered visage. Hirakawa made no move to get out of his chair, merely smirking instead.

"Hello, Sakusa-san," she purred.

Sakusa's eyebrows slanted in distaste. "Prosecutor-General."

"So formal. I can't say I disapprove, but it's really not like you at all."

"Cut to the chase," Sakusa demanded. "What are you doing here? And get out of my chair."

"I think not." Hirakawa gestured to the chair opposite his desk, where Kindaichi normally sat. "Why don't you take a seat? I didn't come here for idle chit-chat."

Begrudgingly, Sakusa obeyed, sitting in front of the woman and putting his bag down on the floor.

"Now." Hirakawa steepled her fingers. "I suppose you're wondering desperately what I want. I've heard... That you've been doing some snooping with that new little intern of yours."

"And?" Sakusa ground out, leashing his temper. "It's well within my rights."

"I am aware." She took a sip of her tea. "The Iwaizumi-Oikawa case, yes? A case that was rightfully closed over _half a decade ago_. You've no reason to be chasing _ghosts_."

Even though she could only see the back of his head from where she was standing, Okazaki knew that her boss was debating whether to reveal the new details in the case or not. She was conflicted on it herself—Hirakawa Noriko may have been a one of a kind witch, but she was also on the side of the law.

So she tried not to show her surprise when Sakusa leaned back in his chair and stared down his superior without wavering. "No, I guess not."

"In any case," Hirakawa was quick to move on, "Your interference has led to this unprecedented outcome: the death of a man. Maybe there was some sense to your chasing after all... However, I cannot allow you to continue your investigation. This isn't about the past anymore—it's about the present. I suspect a copy-cat killer."

"With all due respect, that's _ridiculous_."

"Oh?"

"We both know that Miya is dead because _I_ dug too close to the _truth_." Sakusa glared at her. "What's going on, _Hirakawa_?"

"An investigation that _you_ will take no part in," Hirakawa replied icily. "From now on, this case is _out_ of your hands, as is the Oikawa-Iwaizumi one."

Sakusa inched forward, pulling his mask down; his lip was curled. "Stop being so _obtuse_. I'm the best chance you have of finding out the truth."

"Who says our truths are the same?" she challenged. "Sakusa Kiyoomi—"

Okazaki gasped quietly.

"—I'm suspending you from your duties indefinitely. And if I catch you working on _any_ case," Hirakawa sneered, "I'll have you dismissed as a prosecutor."

"You're making a mistake," he told her, his voice filled with a rare venom that made Okazaki tense.

"I'll take my chances," Hirakawa said evenly. "You have twenty minutes to pack, and then I want you out of this place straight away. I've told the security guard to do a bag and body check before you leave the building, so be prepared for that. If he catches you with anything work-related, there will be consequences. Understood?"

Sakusa met her gaze, his dark eyes like still water. "... Understood."

It was painful for Okazaki. Watching him bend like a willow branch to a merciless gale. But even so, she knew—knew that the branch would not stay stooped forever.

* * *

As soon as Hirakawa left, Sakusa sprayed his chair and desk with disinfectant, every movement containing cold fury. As if Miya Osamu's death hadn't been enough, the Owl-face had swooped in to put an even bigger roadblock in front of him. "Okazaki," Sakusa said quietly, "When you leave, take the case files with you. They're in my bag. Bring them to Kindaichi."

Okazaki nodded. "Of course, sir. But may I ask—what are you planning on doing?"

"The Owl-face said that she'd only suspend me if I was caught working on a case. As far as she's concerned," Sakusa looked up from wiping his desk down, "I'm going to go visit a friend." Just in case, he checked his desk thoroughly—opened and closed every single drawer and felt up every single nook and cranny of it. _I wouldn't put it past her to bug the room._ He couldn't find any listening devices—it wasn't reassuring though. _Do you think you've won, Hirakawa?_ "Be careful."

"I will," the woman promised. "Wherever you're going... Good luck."

"Don't worry," Sakusa said, brushing off her concern. "I'm bringing Inspector Sawamura with me."

"Oh?"

Sakusa had called Daichi before he was forced into an impromptu meeting with Hirakawa. There was one thing that he couldn't get out of his head—the lack of Osamu's twin brother in the picture. Neither Sakusa or Daichi to the best of their knowledge had heard a single peep from him despite it having been hours since Osamu's death was leaked to the public. And that itself was concerning, and worth investigating.

Leaving Okazaki behind in his office, he went down to the car park from outside (undergoing the security check) and got into his vehicle. From there, he took a short drive to the police station car park, where Daichi was waiting, having changed out of his uniform.

"You said you needed my help with something?" were the first words Daichi said as he sat down in the passenger seat.

"I need you to have my back," Sakusa said honestly. "Miya Atsumu might be in danger, or pose a threat to us."

Daichi gave a firm nod. "Right. You can trust me."

At that, Sakusa gave him a small smile. "I know."

Atsumu didn't live in a good neighborhood. The crime rate was particularly high here, and Sakusa remembered there being a huge drug bust late last year in this very same area. Part of him didn't want to drive his car here, but that was a secondary concern.

He had a bad feeling about Atsumu—not necessarily about the man himself, but a niggling feeling that he was in some sort of trouble.

Like the majority of citizens in Tokyo, Atsumu lived in an apartment building. It was nothing like Osamu's building, which had been tall, wide, and had gleamed proudly under the sun. Instead, it was a stained, decrepit old thing with only five floors. Even Semi's apartment had been better-looking—by _miles_ , in fact. If his living situation was any indication, Miya Atsumu was a man down on his luck.

Before Sakusa left the vehicle, he put on his face mask snugly and retrieved a taser from his bag. Daichi kept one hand on the gun in his belt holder, prepared to draw it at any time as they passed through the front courtyard—littered with beer cans, syringes, used condoms and other things that made Sakusa's nose scrunch up in disgust—and into the building.

"He lives on the fourth floor," Sakusa informed Daichi.

There was no elevator, so they had to take the stairs.

Finally, they found themselves standing in the hallway, in front of Atsumu's door. It was plain.

Daichi thudded his fist on the door. No answer. He tried again, but to no avail. "Police!" he declared on his third knock. "Open up!"

There was dead silence on the other end.

Sakusa and Daichi exchanged a glance. Then Sakusa nodded, and Daichi stood back before kicking the door down without preamble, his gun drawn.

"Clear," Daichi announced as he scanned the small living room. The tiny bathroom turned out to be clear, too, which left them with only the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and both men proceeded with caution.

Gingerly, Daichi nudged it open, eyes widening at the sight. "Sir, over here. He's...!"

Sakusa rushed in, and he felt his heart drop to his stomach. "Shit."

On the floor, Miya Atsumu lay splayed on his side. Pills were scattered all over the floor, an empty bottle rolling back and forth lazily by his hand.

 _He's still breathing_ , Sakusa realized, eyes widening when he noticed the shallow rise and fall of Atsumu's chest.

He crushed tablets underfoot as he rushed over to the man, kneeling by his side. Without any prompting, Sakusa ripped off his mask and tossed it aside, flipping Atsumu on his back and quickly rubbing his knuckles hard over Atsumu's chest for some response. There was none. "Call an ambulance!" he barked over his shoulder; Daichi was already punching in the number on his phone.

Miya Atsumu was almost the carbon copy of his late twin brother. Their faces were the same, naturally, but the parting and color of their hair was different, Atsumu's dyed a light blond.

He tilted his head, lifting his chin and pinching his nose.

His lips were pale.

And they were cold against Sakusa's own lips.

Two quick breaths into the mouth.

Then one long breath every five seconds.

In between the short intervals, Sakusa grabbed the bottle, looked at the label, and tossed it aside. He'd been right—Atsumu had overdosed on antidepressants. On purpose, too, it seemed like, but Sakusa would worry about that later.

_One long breath._

Their lips met again.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Naloxone would help, but neither he or Daichi had some with them at the moment.

 _Don't give up on me,_ Sakusa silently begged, his lips pressed against Atsumu's. Atsumu was a key to unlocking the truth about the Iwaizumi-Oikawa case—Sakusa _refused_ to let him pass on so abruptly like his brother. This was a person who could still be saved, and he would be _damned_ if he didn't try.

"They're coming up the building," Daichi's voice sounded in the background. "There's an ambulance waiting outside."

The paramedics burst into the room just as Atsumu's eyelids fluttered. Startled, Sakusa could only stare for a brief moment, his lips damp from the rescue breathing. They were different from Osamu's—Atsumu's eyes were browner and oddly expressive, even when they were glazed over.

"We'll take it from here." Sakusa stood and put himself out of the way as the paramedics came over with a stretcher and some Naloxone. "Good work there, officer. You might have saved this man's life."

Sakusa didn't bother to correct him, or dispute the fact that he had brought back a man from the brink of death.

 _Miya Atsumu_ , Sakusa thought, a little dazed by what had just transpired, _has beautiful eyes_.

* * *

Everybody was vacated outside. They hooked Atsumu up to a machine to help with his breathing, and Sakusa answered a few questions about the nature of Atsumu's overdose.

The day had been terribly hectic for Sakusa—from the events of this morning to now. It was only mid-afternoon, and he was ready to collapse into bad and catch up on some lost sleep.

 _At least something somewhat good came out of this,_ he thought sardonically. At least Atsumu wasn't dead.

Soon, the ambulance was ready to depart, and Daichi turned to Sakusa, having been on the phone with a fellow officer. "Sir... There's been a new development."

 _Ugh. Of course there has._ Sakusa groaned, more than sick of these 'new developments'. "What is it?"

And Daichi grimaced. "A second body was found in Miya Osamu's building."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dun-dun-dun! Okay, this chapter was... one helluva ride? Idk hahahaha
> 
> The Owl-face of Miyagi makes her entrance, and the first thing she does is cancel Sakusa. Geez.
> 
> Please leave reviews/comments/theories! I love hearing 'em all the damn time, I'll never get sick of them :P


	12. Distant Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okazaki pays Kindaichi a visit, Yahaba meets Yachi through Kunimi, and Kageyama receives some news from Prosecutor Chinen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Suicide attempt

**April 27th, 2018**

Kindaichi awoke after five hours of fitful sleep. For a while, he simply sat hunched in his bed, the top of his head brushing the bottom of the top bunk. Above him, Goshiki was snoring away. Some movement from the bathroom indicated that either Yahaba or Kunimi were already awake—probably Yahaba. Kunimi was never an early riser if he didn't need to be, and Kindaichi knew for a fact that his best friend only had afternoon classes today.

Feeling his bladder about to burst, he stumbled into the bathroom and mumbled, "Mornin'."

Yahaba accidentally kicked his toe against the sink cabinet. "What the?! Kindaichi?"

Kindaichi blinked once. Twice. _Am I dreaming?_ "Your face is dangling."

"It's not _dangling_."

On Yahaba's face were... pieces of tape. Several pieces of tape, in fact, and all of them had these bands attached to them. It was the strangest thing Kindaichi had ever seen in his twenty-one years of living, and he couldn't for the life of him figure just _what_ they were for and _why_ Yahaba felt compelled to put them on his skin. "I just came here to pee, man, I didn't need to see this shit."

As Kindaichi lifted the toilet lid and pulled his pants down slightly to do his thing, Yahaba explained, "It's face tape. I use it to make my face look sharper."

Kindaichi yawned. "Why would you wanna do that?"

Yahaba didn't answer right away, looping the band around his head so that it was hidden by his thick hair. Then he said, "It just looks good."

"Next, you'll be wearing makeup—oh, what the hell?" Kindaichi turned around—pants back on and bladder relieved—after he flushed, just in time to see Yahaba applying foundation on his face and over the translucent tape to cover it up. "Do you do this every day?"

"Not until recently," Yahaba admitted. "But it just makes me feel good about myself, y'know?"

"Well, okay then. Personally, though," Kindaichi's lips curved upward in a small smile, "I don't think you need it."

"Haha, thanks, Kin-chan."

"No problem."

Yahaba departed soon after finishing his morning routine, and Kindaichi called a farewell after him before throwing himself back into bed. It felt softer than before, and he felt sleep beginning to envelope him again.

But before he could nod off, something struck him.

 _'Kin-chan'?_ Kindaichi's tired eyes popped open. _Did he call me 'Kin-chan'?_ He hadn't been called that since his first year of high school; Oikawa had assigned that affectionate nickname for him during their times together in Kitagawa Daiichi. _That's weird... Why would Yahaba call me that?_

The questions ate away at him, and soon, he found himself unable to fall asleep. Groaning, Kindaichi got out of bed again, deciding he might as well make a simple breakfast for himself.

As he flipped a medium-sized pancake on the stove top, another detail swam to the forefront of his mind—Yahaba had teased his hair.

_But why? Is it just the same reason why he's wearing makeup now?_

Kindaichi shook it off, flummoxed as he was.

 _I'm sure it's nothing_.

He was spreading some butter and cream over his pancake when knuckles rapped on the door, and Kindaichi almost punched a hole through his pancake with the butter knife. Each individual dorm had a keypad on the door and required a school-assigned pass-code to enter. It was only a four digit number—all of the guys remembered it, so it had to be a visitor and not Yahaba coming back to snatch the breath mints he had left in his drawer.

 _Who'd visit so early in the morning?_ Parcels and packages were out of the question—those were left at the lobby where a building officer would inform them of their delivery by text. Taking it upon himself to find out who it was, Kindaichi abandoned his breakfast for the moment and went over to the entrance-way, where shoes were scattered.

Kindaichi didn't know who he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't _her_. "Okazaki-san?"

She was unlike her usual drab self today—her hair was up fashionably, her face was made-up, and she was wearing a dress. She looked more like she had when Kindaichi had met her for the first time.

"Oh, good," Okazaki breathed a sigh of relief, "I got the right dorm. It took me hours to dig up your file for your address." She shook her head. "But never mind that! You missed out on a lot yesterday."

He shrugged. "I would've been a bother anyway," he said tersely, remembering Sakusa's dismissive response to his call.

Her brows creased sympathetically. "Don't be like that. Sakusa-san... he didn't mean to be so abrupt with you and shut you out. He had— _still has_ —a lot on his plate, that's all. Is there somewhere we could talk in private?"

Kindaichi glanced over his shoulder—his two remaining roommates were still asleep, but there was no telling for how much longer. "Er, not really."

"That's alright then. Will you come down with me to the car? We can talk in there. No need to change—it won't be long."

"Um, sure." In all honesty, Kindaichi didn't really want to walk through the building with his messy undercut and wearing his striped pajama pants that awkwardly exposed his unshaved legs from the shin down and lime green t-shirt that said 'Big Spoon' (he had dug it out from the clearance section at a nearby discount store). But whatever Okazaki needed to tell him seemed to be quite important as well as urgent, and he didn't want to keep her waiting. "Gimme a moment." Hastily, he went over to Yahaba's (and Kunimi's; they bunked together) bedside table for a mint to combat his morning breath, then rejoined Okazaki. "Okay, let's go."

At least Okazaki was mildly amused if the slight smirk on her painted lips was any indication.

Okazaki's car was a lot more humble and down-to-earth than Sakusa's one. To his surprise, the driver's seat window rolled down as they approached, revealing a well-groomed man with gelled brown hair wearing classy sunglasses.

"This is him?" the mysterious man said, tilting his shades down to scrutinize Kindaichi like a master art critic reviewing a novice's work. "'Big Spoon'. Heh."

Kindaichi flushed beet red.

Once they were all inside, the man rolled the window back up and peered around his headrest to look at Kindaichi and Okazaki; the latter had removed some files from her bag.

"Huh?" Kindaichi's eyes bulged as he took in the sight. "These... are all the case files!" It had pretty much everything. Oikawa's profile and autopsy report, a short report about the confession note as well as the confession note itself, and papers and papers of all the evidence and information he had gathered with Sakusa. The only things missing that Kindaichi had expected to be there were from more recent developments, such as Osamu's autopsy report. "Okazaki-san, you're giving them to me?"

"It was my last order," Okazaki told him. "From Sakusa-san." She lifted a hand to palm a cheek, tittering. "Aw, look at me being so dramatic. I made it sound like he died or something."

"Yes, you did. But what's he doing? Why is he handing all this stuff to me?"

"Ain't it obvious?" said the male driver. "He's being hunted by the yakuza."

" _Naoji_ ," Okazaki exclaimed, exasperated. "Shut up."

"Wow, way to talk to your big brother that way."

"He is _not_ being hunted by the yakuza," Okazaki sniffed, turning back to Kindaichi. "Sorry about him, my older brother is an idiot. Sakusa-san has been suspended from duty. He is not longer allowed to work any case. _Indefinitely_."

"What?!" Kindaichi shouted. "How?! Why?!" _Sakusa got suspended?! For what?!_

"I _know_." Okazaki breathed out. "I was _there_ when it happened, and I still find it hard to believe. It's a long story... But since he's out of commission for now, it could be dangerous for him to keep the files in his house. The Prosecutor-General, I've heard, will go to many lengths to keep her subordinates in check. I haven't heard from him since yesterday, but... I know he has faith in you. Just the very fact that he's entrusting these files to you means something."

Kindaichi's throat bobbed. "I see," he said thickly. He cleared his throat. "So I'm gonna continue to work the case without him?"

"Until he gives us his next order, I suppose so. He won't leave us hanging for long."

Almost frantically, Kindaichi picked up the whole bundle and flicked through the corners of it. There was so _much_. To say it was a little overwhelming would be the understatement of the century. "I don't know," Kindaichi blurted. "I don't know if I can do this alone. I don't even know where to _start_."

"Hey." Okazaki reached over to squeeze his shoulder, her gaze solemn and determined. "Believe in yourself, Kindaichi-san. Believe in yourself, because Sakusa-san believes in you." With narrowed eyes, she looked out one tinted window, surveying the cul-de-sac. "You should go now. It'd be best if you don't show this to your roommates. Naoji, unlock the door."

There was an audible click.

Okazaki took a canvas bag out of her big bag, opening it up for Kindaichi to dump all the files into it.

Then he was sent on his way. Kindaichi watched from the top of the stairs that led to the building as Naoji did a three-point turn and headed out the way they came.

Kindaichi took a deep breath. _Alright. Let's solve this case._

* * *

**April 28th, 2018**

Kunimi sat on a park bench, an iced coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. As he expected, Oikawa's imposter had not bothered to reply to any of Satake Mari's follow-up texts. There'd been very little activity on Yahaba's Picstagram as well. Slowly, but surely, things were coming together in his mind. His next course of action was based on a decision that bothered him immensely—but had to be done.

There was no way Yahaba would ever admit truth to Kunimi's accusations if otherwise. This was the simplest way. The _best_ way.

"Kunimi-kun!"

So when Yachi skipped over to him with a bright smile on her face, he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Hey, Yacchan," he greeted casually.

"Hi!" Yachi's smile was a little wobbly. She sat down beside him. "What's up? I didn't think you'd ever ask me to meet up with you..."

Kunimi couldn't look her in the eye. He feigned shyness. "It's a little embarrassing..."

Yachi chuckled. "Don't worry—I know all about embarrassing." She held her face. "Just thinking about all the embarrassing stuff I've ever done is making me embarrassed...! S-so, I guess what I'm saying is that... don't be? Embarrassed, that is! Because I've probably done way more embarrassing stuff than you!"

Yachi rambled a lot. It was kinda cute, actually.

Rubbing the back of his head in faux sheepishness, Kunimi sighed, "I dunno how to say this, but... My friend likes you. A lot. And he was wondering if it would be okay if he introduced himself to you."

Yachi stared at him, mouth agape. Then Kunimi could have sworn she exploded in a small puff of smoke. "W-what?! Kunimi-kun, this is really short notice! I-I-I—!" She couldn't finish her sentence as she blushed redder than Kunimi thought a human would be capable of. "N-not that I don't want to, but...!"

"Ah, I'm sorry, Yacchan. But trust me—he's a good guy." _Tch_. _Where is he, anyway? He should've been here five minutes ago, at least._ "Just be yourself. He'll be here soon."

"Yoohoo~! Kunimicchi!"

_Speak of the devil._

He had purposefully dressed up today to impress her. Kunimi tried not to frown as Yachi blinked at Yahaba with stars in her eyes.

Yahaba shot Yachi a charming grin. "Hey. We met the other day. And, ah... To be honest, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

 _What a cheeseball,_ Kunimi thought with a deadpan, dragging himself further along the bench.

For better or for worse, Yachi seemed to be enthralled with his blatant flirting. "Oh, um, yes!" She smiled up at him, standing up from the bench and folding her hands delicately in front of her skirt. "Thank you, by the way. For helping me."

"No problem. I was the one who bumped into you anyway."

"N-no, it's okay! _I_ bumped into _you_."

Yahaba chuckled, the sound boyish. "Really? That's not the way I remember it."

Their conversation faded into the background for Kunimi, though he did keep an eye on them out of his peripheral. Yahaba wasn't making any big moves yet, which was smart, Kunimi supposed. They'd just formally met, after all, and Yachi was a shy creature.

_I'm sorry, Yacchan._

Everything had started when Kindaichi and Yahaba returned from exploring Kitagawa Daiichi, bringing with them a mysterious note. Goshiki hadn't been too interested in it, more focused on preparing that night's dinner than anything else, but the Seijoh boys had gathered in the bedroom, perturbed.

The week after that, everything had seemed normal. Kindaichi miraculously secured an internship under one of the biggest hardasses in the alumni program, and Yahaba carried on with his studies.

Then, one day, Kunimi had come back early from a lecture to see hunched over his laptop on the couch with lots of makeup strewn all over the floor and cushions. They'd both been shocked, and had played it off as coolly as possible. When Yahaba wasn't looking, however, Kunimi went over his search history and took multiple photos of his searches.

'How to make your face sharper'.

'How to get rid of chubby cheeks'.

'How to make your eyes look bigger'.

'Rate my smile'.

'How to smile properly'.

'How to make my face tanner'.

'What foundation suits pale skin'.

The list had gone on and on and on.

 _Maybe it's just his vanity,_ Kunimi had initially thought. But then things had gotten stranger. Not only did he begin to speak like _him_ , but dress, look, and sound like him. Multiple times, Kunimi had almost given himself away out of frustration, punching in text messages that never sent.

 _Why are you pretending?_ he wanted to ask so badly. _Why are you pretending to be someone you're not?_

Kunimi wondered if anybody else had noticed.

 _If anybody else had noticed Yahaba Shigeru was looking and sounding more and more like Oikawa Tooru with each passing day_.

They ended up exchanging numbers. Kunimi observed the whole process with hooded eyelids. Then Yahaba announced he had somewhere to be and said farewell to both. With a giddy smile on her face, Yachi sat back down next to Kunimi.

"So?" Kunimi prompted. "You like him, don't you?"

Yachi glanced away. "D-does it come off that way?"

"Hmm, yep."

"I know I just met him, but," Yachi fiddled with her ponytail, "I would... like to get to know him a bit more first."

 _That means they'll probably meet up for a date at some point. But when?_ "Hey, Yacchan, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure. What is it?"

Kunimi paused, mulling over how he should ask her. "If Yahaba asks you out," he decided on, "Could you tell me?"

Yachi gave him a long look, curiosity aflame in her warm chocolate eyes. "Alright," she agreed finally. "But, Kunimi-kun... I need to know... Is there something going on? If there is," she went on before he could lie to her, "Please tell me when you're ready."

 _Ah._ Kunimi slouched. _She's too good for this world._ "I will," he promised her.

* * *

Kageyama's thumb hovered over his mother's contact before he went back to his phone's home screen and sat down in front of the vacant desk that he'd been escorted to. He'd received a call last night asking for him to come down to the police station sometime today.

Outwardly, he appeared calm, but he could hear his heart pounding between his ears.

 _What is this about?_ He'd been staying on the good side of the law ever since Yamaguchi's father had whacked him across the back of the head with a baseball bat of all things, so it couldn't be something that he had done. That left only one possibility. _It's about Miwa, isn't it?_ His long fingers tapped nervously on the desk, yearning for a volleyball to set to settle his nerves the same way a nicotine addict yearned for a cigarette.

Sakusa had promised to notify him about any new developments related to Miwa, but the voice on the other end had been generic and bland—nothing like Sakusa's gravelly baritone (which did not befit his unassuming appearance).

Around him in the small office, officers were working diligently on their computers. He let the clicks of their keyboards soothe his soul before the door opened and someone called his name, "Kageyama-san?"

Kageyama turned around and stood. "Yes. That's me."

Two unfamiliar people, a man and a woman, were at the doorway; the woman approached him. "Thank you for coming down today. My name is Chinen Itsumi, and I'm a prosecutor. Why don't we talk somewhere else?"

They moved to an unoccupied interrogation room. It was different than the one he'd been in last time with Sakusa—but unlike last time, he was here for privacy, not questions. Chinen sat at the head of the table; Kageyama and the officer sitting on her right and left respectively.

"I'm sure you've heard of the recent death of Miya Osamu," Chinen began, folding her hands on the table in a show of non-aggression. "I am currently leading that investigation, and we've discovered something that we found the need to inform you about."

"What is it?" Kageyama inquired.

Chinen inhaled, as if she were psyching herself up to answer him. "We have discovered old human remains. After running some tests, we've determined the identity of the deceased to be Kageyama Miwa." Her brows slanted up in sympathy. "I'm very sorry, Kageyama-san."

If she said anything after that, Kageyama didn't hear it. He simply sat in his chair and stared blankly at the officer sitting opposite him, a cold sort of numbness that prickled his skin enveloping him from head to toe.

_The remains... They're Miwa's...?_

He couldn't even _cry_.

"I understand this is hard to hear," Chinen continued. "Please take your time to digest this."

Six years. It'd been six years since he had last seen her smile, last seen her laugh. His head hung, and his hands—nails clipped short and perfectly filed, even after all these years without volleyball—came into view. Suddenly, he was fourteen again. Fourteen and alone during his middle school graduation. Kindaichi and Kunimi were with their families, the volleyball team captain was holding an academic trophy up to his parents, and Shiroma Yubin was showing off all the presents she had gotten from boys. Their lives all intersecting at once. He was standing alone under the cherry blossom tree. He was walking toward and out the gate. He was looking over his shoulder and seeing Miwa run up to him before she faded into nothing, particles of dust brushing against his cheeks, still round and plump with youth.

That day, Kageyama hadn't cried. Wouldn't have cried, even if Miwa hadn't come.

For six years, Miwa had been lost to the wind.

And now, Kageyama finally knew the truth.

Miwa was dead.

Exhaling sharply, Kageyama rubbed his face, his eyes especially. Even when he was done, he kept his features covered. He said something, but Chinen and the officer could not make it out.

"I'm sorry," Chinen apologized, "Could you repeat that, please?"

Kageyama lowered his hands. "Did she suffer?"

Chinen and the officer exchanged a glance. Then she turned back to him. "No," she said, her voice clipped. "She died almost instantly from blunt force trauma."

 _You're lying._ "What aren't you telling me?" Kageyama's voice broke. "Chinen-san... What happened to my _sister_?"

"She died many years ago," Chinen informed him. "Five years ago, in fact. But the murderer... He... Her body was not found whole."

"He hacked her up," the officer said bluntly, and Chinen glared fiercely at him. "Why? Am I wrong?"

"I would appreciate your silence, Hamano-san." To Kageyama, she tried to spare his feelings by adding hastily, "It was all done post mortem."

 _Hacked her up. The killer hacked her up._ Even after she had died, her body had been _desecrated_. Kageyama wanted so badly to maybe sob or scream at the revelation, but it was if he had lost the ability to do either. When he finally found his words again, he asked, "Does my mother know?"

"We've tried to contact her, but we haven't received a response yet."

"She's an ER nurse," said Kageyama. "Her working hours are all over the place."

"I see. That probably explains it."

He felt strangely light. Hollow, perhaps. Like all feeling had been drained from him, leaving him to be nothing more than an empty husk of a person. Kageyama realized it then—realized the cause of this.

It was because—

_I have nothing left._

Kageyama stood. "Thank you for telling me."

Chinen nodded. "Of course. Stay safe, Kageyama-san. We'll catch the killer and bring him to justice."

They escorted him outside.

For a while, Kageyama just stood in front of the stairs leading to the station. In the near distance, he could hear cars zooming and honking as people raced to their next destination—because in a city like Tokyo, there was always a place to be.

But Kageyama did not have a place to be.

He had three upcoming assignments to be submitted according to his course outline, two of which were worth forty percent each.

His backpack—weighing almost nothing and slung over one shoulder—slipped down, so he shrugged it back on again.

For years, he had held on to the tiniest hope—the tiniest hope that Miwa was still alive, and that they'd be reunited once again.

 _Five years,_ he repeated in his head as he forced his feet to move, remembering what Chinen had said. Kageyama walked back to university, toward a familiar place. He peered up to see the neon sign of Cafe Pezzo that Manager Sunano often complained about (it wasted too much electricity). It wasn't turned on yet—would not be until in the evening. _She was already dead for five years._

Kageyama walked around the back to the administration building, where he took the stairs to the highest level—the building was five storeys in height. There was an incinerator on the roof, made for burning garbage and other wastes. Up here, the wind whipped around him and chilled him to the bone despite the amiable spring weather they'd had this week, and he threw his backpack on the ground.

Kageyama had been thinking for a while now. He wasn't really the thinking type—he preferred action over words. But for the past couple of years, he had been doing some thinking for a change. And it was his thinking that finally led him here, to the edge of the administration building's rooftop.

It was only five storeys. Yet, when he looked down, it seemed so high up—so much so that it evoked feeling in him again, the feeling that made his heart jump to his throat.

"How pitiful," he said aloud, despite there being nobody to listen. "You really do have nothing, do you?"

Nothing and nobody.

White noise buzzed in his ears.

"Kageyama? What are you doing?"

He took one long breath.

"Wait!"

And let himself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There's a crying chapter after this. When I say crying chapter, I mean people in the story cry. Whether the readers cry or not isn't up to me :P
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


	13. Gossip, Hospitals, and Night Clubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obata shares her concerns about Noriko, Sakusa visits Atsumu, and Tsukishima can't get Oishi to stop smoking.

**April 28th, 2018**

The police precinct was ablaze with gossip today, and the forensics department was no exception to that. Shirabu, thirsty for a cup of his afternoon coffee, walked into the break room to find many of his colleagues taking up the space. The table he usually shared with Obata (and sometimes Smith) was already occupied. Irritated, he instead tried to content himself with standing by the coffee machine, his terrible glare scaring anybody else off from getting a refill.

 _Honestly,_ he thought scathingly, _Five break rooms and everybody chooses this one for today._

"Hiya, Shirabu-san!" Obata came in from a side door, carrying a bag of takeaway in one hand. Why she had not asked Secretary Jay to just deliver it down was a mystery to him.

"Obata-san," Shirabu returned, lifting his cup of coffee ever so slightly in his acknowledgement.

"I'm sure you've heard already," Obata said, glancing around once, "But I cannot believe Sakusa-san got _suspended_."

"I can." Shirabu snorted. "That guy was always throwing his weight around. Look's like the Prosecutor-General finally got sick of his shit."

"Y'know, sometimes I can't tell if you like or dislike him."

"I could say the same for you. If I had five hundred yen every time you bitched about him, I'd be—"

"Good morning!" Smith appeared out of seemingly nowhere, almost causing Shirabu to spill hot coffee all over himself. For whatever reason, he was in an exceptionally good mood this morning.

The same could not be said for Shirabu, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

Obata grinned at the older man. "Oho? What's got you in such a good mood?"

Smith was practically glowing as he announced, not just to them, but to everybody in the room, "Kimiko's pregnant!"

At that, he got a few wolf whistles and hearty congratulations.

"Smith, you _dog_!" someone felt the need to call out.

"Congratulations, Smith!"

"Do you know if it's a boy or girl yet?"

"Not yet," Smith only replied to the last question, which a woman had asked. To Shirabu and Obata, he whispered excitedly, "I'm really hoping for a girl this time! Two twin _boys_ are a major nightmare to deal with..."

"Don't think a girl will be so easy," warned Obata, lifting a finger. "I grew up with four sisters, and we each fought tooth and nail for a second serving of rice during dinner. Believe me—girls can be _ruthless_." She shuddered like she was experiencing a bad memory. "Mariko almost scratched my eye out once... Brr!"

They both turned to Shirabu, expecting some sort of input. The bowl-cut man shrugged. "I was an only child."

"I knew it," Obata said, "Everything about you screams 'only child'."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Smith smiled kindly. "Maybe because you have a high regard of yourself, Shirabu-san. Which isn't an awful thing to have in moderation."

"I see."

"More like he can be a huge asshole!" Obata harrumphed, crossing her arms. "He said I was 'hilariously poor' once."

Shirabu smirked slyly. "Would 'poor in hilarious proportions' be more accurate?"

"Argh!"

They talked a bit more about their lives. The conversation mostly consisted of Shirabu and Obata offering their (very differing) opinions on baby clothes (the latter through mouthfuls of takeaway sushi). Obata also wanted the nursery to be painted sunshine yellow, while Shirabu wanted it midnight blue. It was toward the end of their break that the topic steered back to Sakusa's suspension.

"Yes, I had heard," Smith said, ever so neutral. If he were a pH, he would be 7 in Shirabu's opinion. "Apparently, it was because his unofficial investigation was the indirect cause of Miya-san's death. Wife's so torn up about it, by the way. Almost forgot to mention. She was inconsolable until we found out about the baby."

"The Prosecutor-General made the right decision," opined Shirabu.

"You think so?" Obata hummed, frowning. "I'm not so sure..."

"What makes you say that?"

"I've known Noriko-san since high school," explained Obata. "We went to Karasuno together; she was the Student President. Back then, she always made decisions based on logic and rationale. But to me, it seems... That this isn't like her at all. I dunno, I can't really put my finger on it."

Smith looked confused. "What do you think it is then?"

"I dunno, honest. Noriko-san's decision... It just doesn't have the same level of rationality she has. Like, some disciplinary action would be good, but to suspend one of Japan's best prosecutors... No, she wouldn't do that. Not unless he _seriously,_ _seriously_ messed up... Or unless she has some kind of ulterior motive."

Shirabu blinked. That did make sense, yes, but... "You're not seriously accusing the Prosecutor-General of being corrupt, are you?"

"Of course not! It just...!" Obata bit her lip. "It's not like her at all."

Their colleagues started to get out of their seats and shuffle out. Break was over.

Obata sighed. "Maybe I'm just worrying over nothing."

Smith agreed.

 _Maybe._ Shirabu downed the rest of his coffee. _Or maybe we're the blind ones._

* * *

It had been a long day for him last Thursday, and he spent Friday catching up on much needed rest. Maybe he wasn't playing volleyball in a highly competitive environment anymore, but Sakusa had always put effort and emphasis in maintaining good health.

The first thing he did after he finished freshening up and had changed into some casual clothes—a black turtleneck and long hunter green pants—was boil some hot water in the kitchen for a cup of late morning tea.

There was a face mask stuffed—with great care—into his pants pocket.

As he waited for his water to boil, he dialed a number on his phone, lifting it to his ear. They picked up after a few seconds. "Hey, Sawamura."

_"Yo. You sound well-rested, Sakusa-san. But I know you wouldn't just call me for nothing. What's up?"_

"Do you know which hospital Miya Atsumu is staying at?" With his free hand, Sakusa switched off his kettle once the water had boiled through. _He was there as a technical first responder as well as a police officer._ It was likely that he had been informed.

 _"Yeah, give me a moment."_ He could hear Daichi typing something into his computer. _"Saiseikai Central, in Minato City."_ Daichi listed the ward and room as well, and Sakusa thanked him before hanging up.

 _Saiseikai Central..._ That wasn't too far from where he lived. With good traffic conditions, it would probably only take Sakusa ten minutes to reach the hospital. Eyes at half-mast, Sakusa made his tea, stirring it with a spoon and discarding the teabag. He brought it to his lips, the cold rim of the cup—the heat had yet to conduct completely there—making a chill run down his spine as a vivid memory from Thursday took hold of him.

The tea wet his lips and he tightened his grip on the handle of the cup.

When he had slept last night, he had only dreamed of one thing—relived only one memory.

His lips on Atsumu's, literally breathing life back into the man.

It bothered him a little, he would admit, and maybe it was one of the reasons that compelled him to visit him. The others were all case-related—despite the strange, one-sided connection Sakusa had now formed with him in saving his life, he still wished to probe him about his brother and his past experiences in the KidProdigy show. Though he had no confirmation, he was certain that the killer was among the staff members (possibly even the contestants) of 2008 KidProdigy.

Once he had finished all of his tea, he grabbed his dark grey overcoat, slipped it on, and headed down to his garage, where his car—Josephine—was waiting.

"Josephine," Sakusa murmured. "Set a course to Saiseikai Central Hospital."

"Calculating route to Saiseikai Central Hospital. Would you prefer the quick route or the scenic route? My database has a collection of eye-catching attractions that may interest you, sir."

"Thank you, but not today. Take the quick route."

"Understood."

As he reversed out of his garage, he put his usual sunglasses on, polarizing the light so he could drive without hindrance. Fortunately, the traffic was easier to maneuver today, and Sakusa pulled into the visitors underground parking lot at the hospital in just under ten minutes.

There were only a few things he knew about Miya Atsumu, and Sakusa listed them in his head as he walked to his room with a nurse.

Atsumu was the twin of the late Osamu.

Atsumu had likely gone through psychological trauma at a young age due to the backlash he received during his time in the KidProdigy show.

Atsumu had a high probability of being suicidal—his overdose was a clear enough indication.

And Atsumu had brown eyes that, he could imagine, would probably glow honey gold under the sun.

Sakusa, mask strapped firmly around his face, halted in front of the door.

"The inspector said you'd be coming. I should warn you," said the nurse as she opened the door. "I'll let you see him, but you won't get your answers so soon. We've put him in a medically induced coma for the next two weeks."

 _Two weeks?_ The prospect of waiting so long for a new lead made him antsy, but Sakusa nodded. "In the meantime, is it alright if I stay here for a while?"

"I can allow you two hours," she told him, backing out of the door. "Buzz if you need anything, or if something happens to the patient. A nurse will come every half an hour to check in."

"I understand. Thank you, ma'am."

Sakusa released a sigh when she was gone, pulling up a chair next to Atsumu's bedside. Blandly, he stared at Atsumu's still features, eyes lingering on his lips. Then he raised his gaze to look out the window instead. He had heard and read stories—stories of accident survivors put in a coma and able to still hear their family and friends conversing around them, even if it was only bits and pieces most of the time.

 _You've caused me a lot of trouble,_ he thought with a twinge of annoyance. _Though you can't be blamed for all of it. Hirakawa shoulders most of that._

"Wake up soon," he uttered, as if it would make the next two weeks speed by. "I'll be waiting."

Soon, he would rendezvous with Kindaichi.

For now, though, he simply sat and thought.

 _Assuming that there_ was _a bug in the room, it's safe to say that Osamu's killer was listening into our conversation. Kindaichi has the notes, so I won't be able to get them until later. And Sawamura will be filling me on the details of the current investigation as soon as he can._ Sakusa pulled his mask down and huffed a sigh. Prior to his suspension, he'd verified Osamu's alibi through his passport. He had also gone through the whereabouts of the set crew in Sapporo during November to December 2012 as well, but there were too many suspects—people with unknown motives that were missing alibis. _Whatever Osamu had to say got him killed. That alone tells me I'm right in my assumption_ — _that the crew is involved._ What he needed right now was a record of those who had also worked in the KidProdigy set in 2008—something that he hadn't been able to acquire before Hirakawa shut his investigation down and dismissed him indefinitely from his post.

 _Osamu became tight-lipped when I brought up Atsumu._ Sakusa's gaze flitted down to the unconscious man in front of him, hooked up to a ventilator and an IV drip. _He knows something, doesn't he? But what?_

And what they did know... How relevant was it to Oikawa?

A long time ago, their lives had become entangled in some cruel twist of fate.

It was then, Sakusa was sure, that the events that had led to the death of Osamu and Oikawa had begun.

There was something that bothered him terribly, however, and that was the appearance of more remains in Osamu's apartment building. Daichi had not be explicit with the details the day the body had been discovered, and the inspector had yet to provide Sakusa with any sort of follow-up. But considering that Daichi was working the case (and with intent to leak information to Sakusa) and he wasn't, he could not afford to be impatient.

So whose remains were those? And who were they to Osamu, Atsumu, and Oikawa? To the killer?

His own next steps were to consolidate with Daichi and get updated with the case, and to retrieve a list of everybody who had worked or participated in KidProdigy 2008.

He would need to pay Iwaizumi Hajime a visit in prison, too, but he needed to be wary. He would, after all, be unable to speak to the prisoner as a law official. And since he wasn't a friend or relative of the prisoner, it would be even more difficult. Hirakawa had probably accounted for that and would be watching his movements in every law space with her owl-like eyes.

There was one thing that Sakusa had that Hirakawa didn't, though.

_"You want his internship to be terminated, sir?"_

_"Yeah. It'll be easier for us if he isn't tied to me."_

_Even during his session with Hirakawa, he had purposefully drawn attention away from him and to himself, taking the brunt of Hirakawa's spite._

A wild card of sorts.

Sakusa smirked.

And that was Kindaichi Yuutarou.

* * *

His bangs floated upward from a sudden breeze that crawled along the length of the building, and Kageyama's eyes widened as he caught himself, the arch of his feet starting to ache. He stared into the jaws of death, feeling fear for the first time; he teetered on the edge.

_Can I really do this?_

_"Kageyamaaaa!"_

"Ooft!" Kageyama grunted as arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him back to safety. His head spun, gravity stumbling like a wounded athlete and turning his world upside-down so that he faced the pale afternoon sky. The sun was white behind the clouds.

"Don't do it," a muffled voice sounded, and Kageyama realized he was sprawled on top of a person.

Swiftly, he rolled off him.

Hinata Shouyou sat up, dust and grime clinging to the back of his clothes. He didn't bother with brushing it off.

" _You_ ," Kageyama blurted, his presence finally registering in his head. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I _was_ gonna take out the garbage." Hinata used his thumb to gesture to the incinerator. Behind his shoulder, Kageyama could see a black trash bag abandoned on the floor, stuffed full with waste. "But then I saw you, and..."

"You should've just let me die."

Hinata blinked owlishly at the man sitting opposite him. "But you're not ready to die."

Kageyama glared, even as he felt something inside him crumble. "I _was_."

The orange-haired man considered him for a moment, then replied, "I didn't stop you. If you fell, I wouldn't have reached you in time. Nope, you stopped yourself."

 _What? I stopped myself?_ Kageyama lowered his gaze, staring at the floor with a frown on his face. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to end it all. "Are you gonna call me a coward?"

"A coward? What for?"

"For taking the easy way out."

Hinata frowned. "Who says it's easy? To stand up there and look death in the eye... You've gotta be pretty damn brave. Or desperate. You know... I've stood up there before. Well," Hinata fumbled, "Not _here_ , but I mean that I've been in your position before. At one point in my life, I was ready to die."

 _You too?_ Kageyama would never have expected it. He still had his doubts, but the way Hinata's lips—usually curled upward in an expressive smile—were pressed into a grim line... "Why?"

"Why?" Hinata echoed, as if the question puzzled him immensely.

Kageyama looked up at him. "You look like you have everything," he clarified.

To his surprise, Hinata laughed. "Really? I look like that?" The laughter faded to a tired chuckle. "I guess it's true. I'm pretty happy now. I'm graduating this year, I have a job, and a ton of friends... But I wasn't always happy. For a long time, I was sad."

For a while, they simply sat there, Hinata drawing circles on the dusty floor with one finger as Kageyama turned his head to the left, staring out into the distance. Somewhere far away, he could hear sirens as emergency services responded to whatever crisis they were to face next. Feeling his gut tighten almost sickeningly, he pulled his legs close to his chest. "Why were you sad?" Kageyama asked eventually.

"It was after mom died. Lung cancer."

"Oh."

"Yeah. She was a chain smoker." Hinata paused in his drawing of a snowman. "I lost dad a few years before her. Do... Do you still have a mom and dad?"

"A mom," said Kageyama. "Dad left us."

He hadn't known until after he had completed his rehabilitation program, his mother welcoming him back into her home with dull, exhausted eyes.

"That sucks." He said it with such powerful sincerity that Kageyama didn't immediately connect the intensity with the words. "My parents divorced when I was a kid, so it was kinda like they left each other. Mom got me and Natsu and moved to Tokyo, and dad... Dad died alone. Because he was sad, just like you. Just like I was."

Unlike them, it dawned on Kageyama, his father had been successful.

"Mom started smoking to deal with the stress of her new job," Hinata continued. "And Natsu, my sister... She fell into a bad crowd, and... She picked up mom's bad habits... And a bunch of other stuff. She ran away in my second year of uni." His throat bobbed. "I haven't seen her since. She was only _fourteen_."

Kageyama had seen what the gutter of the juvenile world was like firsthand. There'd been kids— _kids_ _that had been his_ _age_ —in for drug dealing, prostitution, rape, violence... The list went on. He knew and understood the implications of Hinata's words, and it made him want to _puke_.

Hinata had lost his sister, too.

At once, reality struck him with all the force of a high-speed projectile, shattering the cathartic shell he had wrapped himself in. His fingers pressed against the fabric of his jeans and dug into his shin as his entire body started to tremble. _Hinata lost everything._ He didn't know what it was—pity? Empathy?—but it stirred something deep within him, and he lowered his forehead so that it touched his knees. "Then _why_?" Kageyama demanded when he raised his head again, though it sounded more like he was begging for an answer.

"A friend," said Hinata, smiling slightly. His eyes were shiny, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. "A friend stopped me when I thought there was nothing to live for anymore. He said that I'd only be stuck in the dark forever if I didn't bother looking for the light. A lot of the time, it can be hard to find, but as long as you keep looking, you'll find it." He reached his hand out toward him, his wrist tattoo—feathered wings unfurled—clear for all to see. "Yeah, I wanted to die. Dying is hard, but living can be way harder than dying. But I think it's worth it. Not just living for them, but living for myself as well." Hinata tilted his wrist to allow Kageyama a better view of the tattoo. "I got this on my nineteenth birthday. It's a reminder."

"A reminder?" Kageyama reached out to touch it, but then just let his hand hover over it instead.

"I don't mind," Hinata told him, noticing his hesitation.

Gingerly, Kageyama held Hinata's wrist, the pad of his thumb brushing against the inked skin. The design and execution was flawless to his untrained eye, detail intricate down to the very last feather. "A reminder," he breathed, "for what?"

"That I can still fly."

The answer was so _simple_ , yet it knocked the wind out of his lungs. And he asked himself one more time—

_Do I really want to die?_

Hinata let out a sharp exhale when Kageyama's face crumpled in utter devastation at his own realization, fingers pressed down hard onto his tattooed flesh; his arms shook. With his other hand, he pressed his fist to his mouth as he struggled to hold back tears, sobs wracking his shoulders and making him take gasping breaths. Hinata's eyelids became hooded, but he said nothing, allowing Kageyama—who had always been so stoic to him in their day-to-day interactions—to finally cry, free of judgement.

"Miwa," he said her name as he broke, as he cried like a lost and lonely child; it was ugly and gross, " _Miwa...! MIWAAA!_ "

Kageyama didn't know how long he cried for. But, eventually, he reached the point where the tears would no longer flow. His nose was stuffy, and the space between his nostrils and his upper lip was slick with snot. In the horizon, the sun was starting to set, and Kageyama's red-rimmed eyes matched the color of the sky. His energy was spent, and his shoulders slouched.

"I don't wanna die," he said, voice hoarse.

Hinata offered him a small smile. "Yeah?"

"What do I do then? I have nothing. No one."

"You have me."

Kageyama blinked. "What?"

"Starting from today," Hinata's brown eyes met his, "let's be friends."

He held out his hand, perhaps to solidify the authenticity of the notion.

For a few seconds, Kageyama merely stared at it, seemingly unable to comprehend such a blatant offer of friendship—something he had not experienced for many, many years. Then, slowly, he reached for it, squeezing it a few times as if to test the waters. He swallowed thickly.

"Okay."

* * *

The modelling world truly was a fickle one. Tsukishima Kei had been living in it long enough to know that much, even as he laughed and spoke with his colleagues at the night club, music—music that was certainly not to his taste—blaring from the speakers; the booming bass was enough to make his ears ring and his head hurt. In a circular booth, he sat with his lovely white-haired colleague, Oishi Ryoka, and some of her friends—a popular female model, Kuroeda Yumika, and a male friend who was a high-end journalist (or so he claimed).

Tsukishima's lip curled at the sleazy way the 'high-end journalist' (he looked more high than high-end) wrapped his sweaty arm around Kuroeda's slender shoulders. With her long black hair and small face and big eyes, Kuroeda was the perfect Japanese model and the 'dark' to Oishi's 'light'. Photo shoots they did together were always disgustingly popular, especially with the male demographic.

Kuroeda was also dating Schweiden Adlers' player Hoshiumi Kourai, so Tsukishima didn't know why the hell she was letting this sleazeball drool all over her collarbone.

At least Oishi didn't seem to be enjoying the sight very much either, but they still stayed. In the modelling world, social gatherings like these were quite important—surrounding them weren't just the average club-goers, but names from all over Tokyo.

"Honestly," Oishi muttered to him, "I hate these events."

Tsukishima scoffed. "Ditto on that."

Oishi glanced over her the booth seating, eyebrows raised. "Did you see where my manager went?"

"Who, Chen?"

"Mm. He's supposed to stay with me at all times, but it looks like he dashed." She rolled her eyes. "I don't blame him. Maybe, if he's lucky, he's getting his rocks off somewhere."

"Crude as ever, I see," remarked Tsukishima, but he could not help a chuckle.

"Whatever." Oishi pulled out a packet of cigarettes from her purse and a lighter.

"I thought you quit for your boyfriend."

She lit the cancer stick. "What he doesn't know won't kill him."

"Those will, though. Alisa and Lev will cry if you die."

"Ugh, old habits die hard, okay? I need one right now."

Tsukishima deadpanned at her. "Did you fight with Kuroo again?"

Oishi gave him a wry look as smoke drifted from her parted lips. "That, and other things. The studio's trying to find a replacement for Osamu, but no luck so far. I'm the only thing keeping the show from collapsing for the next few weeks."

"Ah. That sucks." Tsukishima took a sip of his kahlua with milk, which he had kept a very close eye on. Getting roofied was a common occurrence in these sorts of seedy night clubs. "Stay strong, Oishi."

"Loving the encouragement, Tsukishima."

Eventually, Oishi excused herself to go and finish her cigarette outside, and Kuroeda and the 'high-end journalist' decided to go somewhere more private. That left Tsukishima by himself in the booth, but he wasn't bothered in the least.

 _Finally,_ he was almost unable to hear his own thoughts above the music, _some goddamn peace._

He was drinking the rest of his kahlua with milk and about to go to the bar for more when he noticed the elevator doors open. A man stepped out, and Tsukishima narrowed his eyes. The lights were dim, but he could make out some of his features under the DJ's flashing strobe lights. _Manager Chen?_

It was all fine and dandy that he was back to look after Oishi now, but...

_Where the hell would he have to go in the middle of the evening?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welp, here's the next chapter.
> 
> Theories/comments are always super appreciated!
> 
> EDIT: INFO is outdated


	14. New Leads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi gets in touch with Hanae Miyo, and Sakusa and Daichi go over Osamu's case...

**April 30th, 2018**

Kindaichi would be the first to admit that he was definitely in over his head with this massive case. It had been just over twenty-four hours since Okazaki had delivered the case file to him, and he was already ready to give up.

He knew, of course, that he could not do that.

 _Let's take a break._ Kindaichi sighed as he stuffed the case files in his the canvas bag and slid it under his bunk. He didn't think it would be horrible if the guys found out, but Okazaki had advised him to keep the information to himself if he could.

His break, unfortunately, consisted of more work—he was still a graduate student, and he had some assignments he needed to work on. It wasn't so bad, though—putting his mind to something else did wonders for him, and he smiled proudly when he managed to finish one of his important course tasks a little past one o'clock in the afternoon.

But then his face fell when he remembered the files that awaited him.

"And so it begins again," Kindaichi muttered bitterly as he ducked his head partway under the bed in his reaching for the canvas bag.

"Kindaichi?"

Startled, Kindaichi slammed the back of his head against the bed frame, groaning. "Guh..." He clutched his head as he wriggled out, leaving the canvas bag in its dusty spot. "Kunimi? You're back early."

"The ice cream shop was closed for renovations," Kunimi explained. He cocked a brow. "What were you doing?"

"Uhh... Spring cleaning?"

Kunimi deadpanned. "Uh huh."

 _It wouldn't hurt if Kunimi knew, right?_ Kindaichi chewed on the inside of his cheek. Okazaki's warning rang ominously in his ear, but Kunimi... Kunimi had stuck with him through thick and thin. They'd been best friends since their first year of middle school. It was Kunimi who had stuck up for him during Kageyama's dictator stint on the court, and it was Kunimi who comforted him when he cried and yelled in frustration from being forever unable to please his mother. And when Oikawa had died, Kunimi had been there, too...

Kindaichi frowned. _Wait..._

"Well?" Kunimi prompted.

"Sorry," Kindaichi said, standing. "I saw a spider, that's all. Ah, hey. I'm gonna go get some fresh air." Maybe he had been cooped up inside for too long.

"You sure?" Kunimi trailed after him. "I'll come with you."

"No!"

Kunimi halted at Kindaichi's outburst, looking perplexed and maybe a little hurt.

Instantly, Kindaichi was filled with regret. "I... I just need to be alone for a while. Get my head screwed back on straight. Sorry." Without waiting for Kunimi to respond, he pulled his jacket on properly and jogged out the building. There were only a few people wandering around the dorms and the cul-de-sac in the mid-afternoon, leaving him free to think in peace. _Shit... What's wrong with me?_ The part of his head where he had knocked it against the bed was hurting like a bitch, but something else more pressing was gnawing away at him.

_Why don't I remember?_

He could still recall most of the many moments he and Kunimi had shared together, but...

Kindaichi grimaced. He couldn't identify it exactly—just _what_ he was forgetting. _Dammit..._ He slumped onto a park bench, watching birds flutter capriciously around the trimmed trees, carried by the gentle spring zephyrs. Despite the idyllic view, something sinister was permeating the air and crawling beneath his skin. Teenagers and adults alike idled and talked, some of them walking their dogs with them. They probably weren't living in a uni dorm if they had pets—the only pets allowed were creatures that swam, scuttled, or squatted in some sort of tank or enclosure, and even then, there were restrictions. The underlying dread never left him.

It remained like a pest—a parasite.

When he returned to the dorm, he found Kunimi laying on his bed. Upon his entrance, Kunimi dropped his phone onto his face in shock, swearing.

Kindaichi laughed. "Surprised? Sorry about before, by the way. I dunno what I was thinking."

Kunimi was flippant with the apology, as he always was. "It's fine, bro."

Kindaichi slicked back any stray hairs on the tuft of his undercut before washing his hands at the kitchen sink. "I'm gonna make some cup noodles. Want some?"

He sat up, setting his phone aside and hugging his pillow to his chest."Gimme the seafood bonanza special."

"You ate that last week. I'll give you the tomyum one."

As Kindaichi leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil, Kunimi drawled, "So... Why do you have the case files?"

* * *

Kindaichi was always so easily flustered, and this time was no exception. Kunimi kept a straight face as Kindaichi spluttered his denial of ever possessing such things. Kunimi sighed. "Don't worry. I'm... I'm on your side."

Kindaichi sagged. "So you know, huh?"

"Sorry."

"Ah, whatever... You saved me the trouble of deciding. I don't even know the full story, but it boils down to this—Sakusa got suspended from his job."

Kunimi's reaction was rather lackluster in comparison to some other reactions, he would imagine, but that didn't matter. One of Japan's best prosecutors getting suspended from the job wasn't his first guess, but it did make some sense. "Why do you have them, then?" he asked again. "Shouldn't they be reassigned to another prosecutor? No offence, Kindaichi, but you're not exactly a professional."

"These are related to the Oikawa case, not the Osamu one," Kindaichi explained, as if there was some sort of significant difference between the two. "Since it's a closed case with a culprit, I doubt anyone would wanna take it anyway. So..." Somewhat sheepishly, he scratched his cheek. "I guess it's up to me now? Until Sakusa-san decides to contact me again anyway."

He sounded resentful about the last bit, and Kunimi wondered if it had anything to do with the choked noise he had made last night while checking his emails. "Did something happen between you two?"

"My internship was terminated. I received the email before bed."

"Ah." _That explains it._ "You gonna find a new guy?" _He wouldn't._

"Nah," Kindaichi said, peeling back the cover of the cup noodles and adding the sachets in. "It's... It's not the right time."

_Yeah, I thought so._

The kettle began to squeal.

After it stopped its keening, Kindaichi lifted it off the stove top and filled the cup noodles with the steaming water, taking great care not to splash. Then, putting the kettle away, he opened the kitchen drawer and fished out some wooden takeaway chopsticks for them both. Deciding to be kind enough to save Kindaichi the trouble, Kunimi tossed his blankets aside and lumbered over to the kitchen island, where his tomyum noodles were waiting.

In a comfortable silence, they both ate. It was a cozy Monday afternoon, one they could enjoy together in the dorm without Yahaba or Goshiki bothering them. Frowning slightly, Kunimi's hand paused mid-air, noodles dangling from his chopsticks. _Yahaba..._

Yachi had texted him this morning. Apparently, Yahaba had run into her at the library, and had asked her out before they went their separate ways. Their date was tonight—they would be meeting in the university plaza at six o'clock in the evening, and heading to a popular Italian restaurant.

"Kindaichi," Kunimi murmured. "Have you noticed anything strange lately?"

"Strange?" Kindaichi's brow lowered. "Not really. I mean, I guess Sakusa-san's suspension is kinda suspicious now that I think about it."

"Really? What about something closer to home?"

Confusion was written all over his face. "Eh? Like in Miyagi...?"

Kunimi chuckled. "Never mind." _He doesn't suspect a thing about Yahaba._ "So what's your next move for the case?"

At that, Kindaichi groaned. "Ugh, I don't even know yet. I've looked through the files over and over again, but nothing new comes up. I've been thinking that maybe I should talk to some people, but... I dunno." He clutched his chopsticks so tightly that the cheap wood started to splinter. "I dunno if I can see him. I'm... I'm not ready to see him yet."

There was only one person that Kindaichi could've been talking about. Kunimi nodded. "Iwaizumi, huh?"

Kindaichi smiled, but it was a rather morose one. "Yeah."

"Maybe you don't have to see him," Kunimi suggested mildly. "Don't you still have his statements from 2012?"

"That's true, but the _police_ conducted them. They already failed justice the moment they put Iwaizumi in prison for a murder he didn't commit. What if they missed something in his interview? Plus," Kindaichi hesitated, "I... I haven't seen him in six years. I _want_ to see him, but... What then? What the hell am I gonna say?"

 _Don't see him then. You don't need to. Just drop this whole investigation so we can finally move on with our lives._ The words stuck to his throat, and he swallowed them back down uncomfortably. "Is there anyone else besides him who might be worth talking to?"

Kindaichi hummed, contemplative. "There _is_ one other person I can think of."

"Oh?" Kunimi watched as Kindaichi set his noodles down and got on all fours to pull the canvas bag containing the case files from under his bunk bed. Hastily sorting them on the floor, he filtered out a thin sheet of paper and shoved the rest back into the bag.

"Hanae Miyo," said Kindaichi, showing Kunimi the piece of paper. It was scribbled with some basic information about the person. "I managed to find her on Spacebook. I messaged her, but she hasn't replied yet."

According to Kindaichi's research, Kunimi read, Hanae Miyo was twenty-four years old and resided somewhere in Sendai, Miyagi. Her birthday was February 24th, 1994, and she was happily married and gravid with her first child, who would be born toward June. Kindaichi had gone through the trouble of printing out her Spacebook profile picture, too—she was certainly beautiful by conventional means, and had kind brown eyes and dimples. Near the bottom of the page, Kindaichi had—for whatever reason—noted down that she was a 'cat meme enthusiast' and an 'avid user of Tableblog'. "Wow," Kunimi said, sounding wooden even to himself, "This is... weirdly thorough."

"Not really—it was just all I could find on Spacebook without friending her."

"Uh huh." Kunimi slurped up the rest of his noodles and then downed the soup, which was now lukewarm at best. "So, are you gonna meet up with her?" He threw his trash away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before running the same hand under the tap.

"Well... If she replies to me, I will. Oh god, what if she thinks I'm a creep?"

"What did you say to her, dude?"

"Nothing weird!" Kindaichi said defensively. He took his phone out of his pants pocket and opened up Spacebook Messenger. "Look."

 **[Kindaichi]:** Hello. My name is Kindaichi Yuutarou. My late upperclassman used to be a contestant in the 2008 KidProdigy show, and I was wondering if I could speak to you about your experiences on the show.

"... This reads like you're a reporter for a shady gossip tabloid."

"Geh?! It does?!"

"If I got that sent to me, I'd block you straightaway."

Crestfallen, Kindaichi could only stare at the unread status of his message for a few moments as if he were turning over this new information in his head. "W-wait! Do you think I could send it again?! Maybe she hasn't seen it yet!"

"Maybe. But if she _has_ , it'd be even weirder if you messaged her a second time."

"I—Kunimi, look!" Whatever Kindaichi had been about to say flew out the window as he pressed himself against the other man's side so that they were both peering at his phone. Hanae Miyo had seen his message, and the three dots on the screen indicated that she was formulating a response.

"Well, what do you know?" Kunimi smirked. "It's a goddamn miracle."

Kindaichi didn't stop fidgeting until Hanae's reply finally showed up.

 **[Hanae]:** Yes.

Kunimi felt something inside him break at the sight of the one-word response. _That much typing for 'yes'?_ "She's worse than you, Kindaichi. Either that or she's creeped out."

But Kindaichi didn't seem to hear him. "This is great!" he exclaimed giddily, a wide grin on his face. "Kunimi, do you see this?!"

"I see that she may as well have blown you off completely, yeah."

"What should I say back?!"

Kunimi sighed deeply. "Pass it here."

Together, they drafted the message. Surprisingly, Kindaichi had a lot to say about Kunimi's texting style, nitpicking over every single detail. How, Kunimi had to wonder, had Kindaichi come up with such a shitty text if he critiqued every little thing?

"That sounds too forward!" Kindaichi fretted after they redrafted the entire message for the fifth time. "Maybe we should add more question marks so that it's easier to listen to."

"Or maybe," Kunimi said dryly, "We'll stop wasting our time and send it. Look, it says she's still online." Without waiting for Kindaichi's permission, he sent the message. "There."

"Kunimi!"

"What? I helped."

They held their breaths as Hanae typed back, once again taking long enough to try Kunimi's patience.

 **[Hanae]:** You're not a reporter, are you?

Kindaichi snatched the phone from Kunimi and hastily replied.

 **[Kindaichi]:** No.

"So now you're doing the one-word answer thing, too?"

"Shut up, man!"

 **[Hanae]:** Why do you need to know about me?

 **[Kindaichi]:** I have reason to believe that you might know something about a criminal.

 **[Hanae]:** You're accusing me?

 **[Kindaichi]:** No I'm not, please listen

 **[Hanae]:** I'm listening...

 **[Kindaichi]:** My upperclassman, the one I mentioned before

 **[Kindaichi]:** he was murdered

 **[Kindaichi]:** I have reason to believe someone on set in 2008 did it

 **[Kindaichi]:** Not u of course

 **[Kindaichi]:** but you may have information that can help us

Kindaichi chewed on the inside of his cheek as the three dots on the app moved up and down, the action dragging painfully. "Come on," Kunimi heard him mutter under his breath, "What's taking so long?"

A slew of messages appeared at once.

 **[Hanae]:** You're talking about Oikawa Tooru, right?

 **[Hanae]:** I live in Sendai, so I heard about it

 **[Hanae]:** He was also one of my castmates from KidProdigy

 **[Hanae]:** So you're his junior from high school? I checked out your SB page, it says ur Aobajosai alumni

 **[Hanae]:** Hello?

 **[Hanae]:** Are these sending?

 **[Hanae]:** sorry i have bad wifi

 **[Kindaichi]:** That's okay.

 **[Kindaichi]:** Yes, I was his junior in Aobajosai.

 **[Kindaichi]:** I know it's hard to believe, but the man they arrested wasn't the culprit.

 **[Hanae]:** I see.

 **[Hanae]:** Is it okay if we meet up so we can talk face-to-face?

 **[Hanae]:** It would be easier to tell you things in person.

Kindaichi took a sharp inhale, and Kunimi's brows raised. "She wants to meet up?" Kindaichi could hardly believe his ears. "I didn't even have to ask her... Which means that she really might know something."

"That's great," Kunimi said, pushing as much positivity into his voice as possible.

 **[Kindaichi]:** Sure thing. Do you have anywhere in mind? I'm in Tokyo btw, so it's not far from Sendai

 **[Hanae]:** Come to my house.

"What?!"

"That was quick, for someone with zero game," Kunimi quipped. "Maybe her husband's too busy for her or something."

"Kunimi, _no_."

 **[Kindaichi]:** Are you sure about this?

 **[Hanae]:** I do not want to be heard.

 **[Hanae]:** Here's my address

Kindaichi took a screenshot of her home address when it came through. "That's totally not ominous at all," he said, laughing weakly. "Think she knows who did it?"

Kunimi shrugged. "Possibly. Could be why she's so wishy-washy about this. Whatever she wants to tell you is too sensitive to be said through text or call. I can tell _that_ much. Plus, she doesn't want it to be overheard in public. Super suspicious, hm?"

"Yeah. Hmm..."

 **[Kindaichi]:** When's a good time for me to come over?

 **[Hanae]:** Will this Saturday work?

 **[Kindaichi]:** Yep. Time?

 **[Hanae]:** How's two o'clock in the afternoon?

 **[Kindaichi]:** That works

 **[Hanae]:** Alright. I'll see you next Saturday at two then.

 **[Kindaichi]:** Goodbye

Kunimi snorted. "'Goodbye'?"

"Well, what else was I suppose to say?"

"You should've just thumbs-upped the message. Or not replied at all. Even leaving her on 'read' would've been better than 'goodbye'. God, there are _rules_ , Kindaichi. Unseen and unwritten, but rules nevertheless."

Kindaichi let out a noncommittal grunt. "Whatever. It worked, didn't it? I have a new lead." He blinked before breaking into a grin, nearly toppling over one of the stools at the counter as he whooped. "Kunimi...! I have a _lead_! I got a lead without any help!"

"Calm down," Kunimi assuaged, "It could be nothing for all we know."

"Or it could be _everything_. In any case, it's a new lead! Heck, wanna go get a drink? My treat."

"I want ice cream. Gourmet ice cream. Salted caramel flavor."

"What are you, five?"

* * *

**May 1st, 2018**

It was the first day of the month, and Daichi had finally contacted Sakusa to meet up and share information about the Miya Osamu case. Sakusa had shared the location of the venue with him, and now he sat outside Atsumu's hospital room, anticipating Daichi's arrival very soon. For now, he spent his time scrolling through his contacts. There were an abundance of unanswered messages from his volleyball teammates back in Itachiyama—teammates he hadn't seen since his graduation from high school.

The latest was an invite to a 2012-2013 Itachiyama team reunion from Iizuna Tsukasa, his old captain. Last Sakusa had heard of him, he was the setter of the Deseo Hornets, a team in the first division of the v-league.

Then Sakusa ceased his scrolling, his thumb hovering above a name he hadn't uttered in years.

_Motoya..._

"Sorry I'm late," Daichi's deep baritone sounded, and Sakusa glanced up, "The traffic was hectic."

"No, you're fine," Sakusa dismissed his apology, "I didn't wait long." Closing his contacts, he clicked his phone off and put it in his overcoat pocket, shoving Komori out of his mind. "Let's head inside."

Daichi, to his credit, had changed out of his uniform and was wearing civilian clothing. It was a simple outfit—a navy blue blazer thrown a little haphazardly over his white tee and a pair of beige trousers—but almost raggedy in comparison to Sakusa's turtleneck, pants, and overcoat. Even his shoes were designer, but neither of them seemed to harbor any sort of tension toward one another at the obvious contrast in socioeconomic class.

"I have a copy of the case file," Daichi was saying as he put his bag on a chair, Sakusa closing the door behind them with his heel. "I haven't gone through the whole thing, but I know we don't really have any solid leads so far. Here, take a look."

The two men got settled at a round table, a sunny spot near the window. Behind them, Atsumu was still in his coma, his body recovering gradually from the overdose. Daichi peered over his shoulder at the unconscious man, then asked Sakusa, "Why are we doing this here?"

"Precautions," answered Sakusa, not looking up at him as he flipped through the binder.

"Precautions?" Daichi smiled, and Sakusa decided that he was being, perhaps, a little insufferable.

"Yes, precautions," Sakusa repeated irritably, frowning. "Hirakawa has access to my office, and eyes in the police station. Public areas like restaurants and parks are out of the question—they're filled with prying eyes _and_ germs." Daichi kept smirking. " _Why_ are you looking at me like that?"

"You're worried, aren't you?" Daichi ventured, not unkindly. He turned back again to glance at Atsumu momentarily. "About him."

 _Worried?_ Of _course_ he was worried. It was just part of the precautions he was taking. Atsumu's twin brother had been _murdered_ —it wouldn't do anyone any good if Atsumu passed as well. He said as much, and Daichi seemed to accept his response.

"Right, well," Daichi leaned back in his seat, "Tell me what you think about the situation."

In the case file, there were a couple of things that stood out to Sakusa. First—the rice cooker that had been delivered the morning the body was discovered. The police had traced the sender—it was from Yamazon. Osamu had ordered it online. There was nothing _particularly_ strange or suspicious about it, but it was a bit of information that he kept in mind anyway.

"It's odd, though," Sakusa thought aloud. "Not many people _don't_ own a rice cooker. It's a staple in every household." He remembered Osamu's kitchen quite clearly—there had been no sign of Osamu _ever_ owning a rice cooker. No shadowy, circular mark on his counter or anything. There were several explanations to debunk any related suspicion, but there was _another_ weird little thing. "He bought the cheapest one he could find. The product has a two star review on Yamazon. Why would someone like him order something so _cheap_?"

"Yes," agreed Daichi. "I was wondering the same thing. Either he's just bad at reading customer reviews or he's running low on funds."

"A celebrity chef, raking in millions of yen per year, low on funds?" Sakusa pondered the oddity of such a thing.

Sakusa set that aside for now, moving on to the next intricate detail. Osamu's alarm clock and the lack of any signs of forced entry. The report stated that the clock had been set to ring at three o'clock in the morning, and had gone off at the listed time.

"Sawamura," Sakusa murmured some time later, showing him the report, "What do these tell you?"

"Hmm... That whoever killed him had access to his apartment, first of all. Which means that whoever did it must have had his key card."

"And the clock?"

"Ah." Daichi passed his hand through his hair. "I'm not sure about that one."

Sakusa skimmed through the file until he found what he needed. "Here." He showed Daichi a piece of information. "The building officer, Sato-san, came up to the eighth floor—where Osamu lived—at three-fifteen via the stairs. He does routine inspections of the entire apartment every night. At three-ten," he turned the page, "an unidentifiable man dressed in dark clothing carrying a guitar case appeared in the security cameras outside the elevator. He was coming from the left hall. From the direction of _Osamu's_ room. It's suspected he came through the second underground parking lot, which is how he wasn't noticed by Sato-san when he was still in the front lobby, and didn't appear getting out of the main elevator on the eighth floor."

"He knew Sato-san's rounds," Daichi surmised. "He knew when Sato-san would reach the eighth floor. Ah! The alarm clock... It was set to alert the killer when it was time to leave the premises!"

"Exactly."

"But wait." Sakusa could anticipate Daichi's next question. "Why would he need to do that in the first place? Killing a man while he's asleep... I doubt that he'd need much time."

"It's because..." A ball of ice formed in his stomach as Sakusa finally reached the account of the human remains that had been found, DNA test results and all. "Sawamura," Sakusa said suddenly. "You were captain of Karasuno's boy's volleyball team in 2012 to 2013, weren't you?"

"Sure was. Why?"

"Was Kageyama Tobio your teammate?"

"Yes." Daichi seemed even more puzzled than before, doubly so. "What does Kageyama have to do with this?"

Sakusa supposed it was easier to just show him. He spun the binder around so that Daichi could properly read it. It wasn't easy to watch—watch as all color seeped out of Daichi's tan face, leaving him pale and insipid.

"I," Daichi swallowed a lump in his throat, "Oh my _god_."

Daichi had known. Had known about Kageyama's sister disappearing without a trace. Sakusa could see it in his dark eyes—the haze as unpleasant memories of long ago flooded into his mind. Sadness. Anger. _Guilt_.

Sadness, anger, guilt—all stemming from—

"I should've known," Daichi said abruptly, his hands clutching his knees tightly. "We should've _helped_ him. But we let him push us away instead."

"When I spoke to him," Sakusa started. "It seemed that he wasn't the only one doing the pushing. Tsukishima Kei. He never was punished, was he?" Daichi fell into disquieted silence. Sakusa had an inkling of what he was feeling. Daichi had been the captain of the team—responsible for the wellbeing of his teammates. And yet... He had never noticed the things Tsukishima had done under his nose—all according to Kageyama, at least. "We can't do anything about it now," he continued, snapping Daichi out of his guilt-ridden reverie. "Let's focus on the case, Sawamura."

Daichi sighed. "Right."

"Kageyama Miwa's remains were found all in two different locations," Sakusa tapped the paper with one finger, "The smaller parts—her skull and some of her arm bones—were stuffed into Osamu's freezer. The rest were strewn across the car park."

"It doesn't make any sense," Daichi groused. "Why the killer would leave them there."

Sakusa nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes at the binder. "Let's do a scenario. Let's say you're the perp—you've killed Osamu, and now you're lugging around a case full of bones."

"Alright..."

"You've successfully hidden some of the parts in the freezer. But it took a lot of searching around for the perfect place. _To frame Osamu for her death_. Then the alarm clock rings—it's three in the morning, and you don't have long before Sato-san arrives. He's middle-aged, and a slow walker, but still a potential witness. It's better to leave before he passes through. You're in a state of _panic_. What now? What will you do with the rest of the body?"

"I'd throw it out somewhere," said Daichi. "Anywhere, if I'm flustered enough." Sakusa could see the realization dawn on him. "He panicked, abandoned his plan to frame Osamu, and scattered the body around the car park to confuse the police before leaving the premises."

"That's right." Sakusa's gaze shifted to Atsumu briefly. "It wasn't necessarily just what Osamu told me that day that got him into trouble. It was what he could've said had I questioned him again at a later time. More than likely, the perp knew Osamu, and planted listening devices all over his apartment without him knowing. Another reason why he needed such a large time window to come in and out of the building."

"Can..." Daichi chortled. "Can I just tell you how impressed I am for a moment? You figured this out after reading through it _once_."

"I trained my mind," Sakusa replied simply. "The brain is like a muscle. The more you think critically, the easier it is to do so."

"Heh, I guess. So..." Daichi trailed off. "What now?"

"You should probably head back to the station," suggested Sakusa, closing the binder. "Before you're missed."

Daichi stood. "That's probably a good idea." He checked his watch. "It's already been almost an hour."

"Mm. Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You've been a great help," Sakusa said honestly. "Thank you, Sawamura."

Daichi cast him a crooked grin. "It's no problem, seriously. Oikawa..." The smile grew sadder. "He deserves to rest in peace. He was a good man, and a rival I respected."

Right. They'd all been volleyball players in high school, hadn't they?

For Sakusa, volleyball seemed to be from so long ago. All the texts he had ignored, all the dinners and reunions he had declined to go to... He'd thought he'd put enough distance between himself and the sport, but—

 _Maybe it's the opposite,_ he mused as Daichi disappeared out the door; he pulled a chair up next to Atsumu's bed and turned on his phone, _Maybe I've been holding onto it all this time_.

_Because that was where..._

Kindaichi's fury and determination.

Daichi's quiet disappointment in himself.

Kageyama's blank stare.

Even Shirabu's constant annoyance, as if he was always lashing out at the world for the way it had treated them.

And for him, Sakusa, Komori's smiling face as blood dripped from his mouth.

_Everything started for us all._

* * *

**[Yachi]:** The first date went well! He asked me out again. It's next Saturday, we're meeting at seven o'clock this time around.

 **[Kunimi]:** haha that's great

 **[Kunimi]:** thx for telling me

 **[Yachi]:** That's okay, but... Like I said, when you're ready, please tell me what's going on. I'm sorry if I seem too pushy...

 **[Kunimi]:** Not at all. You're not pushy, Yacchan.

 **[Yachi]:** If you're sure...

 **[Yachi]:** But it's getting late, and I have class tomorrow. I'm gonna head to bed now

 **[Yachi]:** Goodnight!

 **[Kunimi]:** Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Uni has officially restarted from me, so I'm not sure how that will affect my updates. For now, enjoy this chapter :P
> 
> Comments/theories/discussion are always appreciated and encouraged! They're love =D


	15. Without Solatium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cafe Pezzo start making preparations for the upcoming May Festival, Sakusa observes Osamu's wake from afar, and Kindaichi finally speaks with Hanae Miyo...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Best not to get your hopes up for a peaceful festival...
> 
> Warning: Implications of Japanese society's collective homophobia, as well as pedophilia.

**May 3rd, 2018**

For Kageyama, life resumed like it had never changed. And it wouldn't have for him, of course, because life didn't care if you needed to slow down a little. With everything that had been happening, he had neglected some of his assignments, a situation that needed to be rectified soon.

But not now.

Right now, all he wanted to do was savor the moment as Hinata carefully made 'the perfect espresso'. Kageyama peered down at the finished work at the counter, while Hinata stood back with a triumphant smile on his face.

"This is a coffee," Kageyama stated blandly, not finding anything particularly impressive about the drink.

"Geh!" Hinata almost fell over. "This isn't _just_ a coffee! Do you know how much thought goes into this, Bakageyama? The timing of the pour, the rich and golden crema...!"

Kageyama gave him a strange look as the orange-haired man began to wax poetic about the intricacies of coffee-making.

"The coffee grounds' consistency!" Hinata went on, gesturing aggressively to the innocent cup of espresso. "The coffee puck has to be firm, moist, and in one piece when removed from the group handle! These thirty millilitres of espresso have to be poured between twenty-five to thirty seconds or else it just won't be _right_!"

 _All that for one cup of coffee?_ Kageyama thought dubiously, feeling rather underwhelmed by the end result of such a strenuous process. He hovered his face above it and took a sniff. It just smelled like coffee.

"You're classless," Hinata accused.

"It's coffee, dumbass."

"You're the dumbass!"

"Having fun, boys?" Sunano mused as she walked around Kageyama with a tray of dirty glasses, which she set aside. There were little customers today, so the manager was rather laid-back with their antics.

"He doesn't appreciate art," huffed Hinata, glowering up at Kageyama.

Irritably, Kageyama replied, "It's _coffee_ , not a drawing."

"Art isn't just drawings!"

Sunano laughed as she went over to the door, flipping the sign so that it displayed 'closed' on the outside. "We're having, like, zero traffic today," she called over her shoulder, "So let's have an early break. Why don't you show Kageyama-san how to make a good coffee? Maybe that'll convince him."

If there was something Sunano wasn't, it was stupid. She watched, smiling, as Hinata explained to Kageyama about the basics of a commercial coffee machine. Sunano knew—knew something had happened between the two that had led Kageyama to loiter around the shop as of recent. She would not complain, of course, if Kageyama didn't get in the way of things and prevent their serving system from running like a well-oiled machine. And, so far, he was fine.

It was obvious to her that Kageyama had formed an attachment to her orange-haired waiter (and vice versa), and she contemplated something as she reached into her apron pocket, fishing out a folded flyer. It was from last year's May Festival—this year's May Festival was to fall on the 19th and 20th of May, and it would be Todai's 91st May Festival, too. She already had a good graphic designer to create this year's poster for their cafe, but she needed someone with ample storage space to ask for favors.

"Kageyama-san," Sunano addressed, making him turn her way. "Are you participating in any stalls in this year's May Festival?"

"No." Kageyama's answer was instantaneous, so much so that Sunano nearly winced.

"Would you like to help us out then?" Sunano asked, kindly. "You don't have to, of course, but it'd be nice to have a helping hand."

"Ooh!" Hinata nudged Kageyama. "You should help! It's not hard or anything—it'll be fun!"

"I don't know," mumbled Kageyama, frowning. "I've never worked before. I don't know how to use the cash register or anything..."

Hinata blinked. "How do you even live?"

"I'm sponsored by the government, dumbass." Kageyama rolled his eyes. "I live near campus for free."

"Waahhh, lucky!"

"Yeah, _right_."

"That's alright," Sunano swiftly intervened before they could start bickering, saying to Kageyama, "I'll just have you do some heavy lifting. You look like you have the muscle. Oh, um! Also, I need to ask—do you have a garage of some sort? Or just anywhere to store some tables and supplies?"

Kageyama nodded, much to her delight. "Yeah, there's a small garage in the basement for each of us. I can probably fit some stuff in there, since mine's empty."

"Then it's settled!" Sunano beamed. "Thanks a lot, Kageyama-san!"

There was a knock on the glass door, and Sunano hurriedly unlocked it, allowing a young lady with blonde hair and blue-rimmed glasses to walk inside. She was dressed rather stylishly, with a white blouse, short skirt, and beret.

"Sunano-san," the woman greeted with a slight smile.

"Ah! You're here, Iwasaki-chan!" Aware of Hinata and Kageyama's curious stares, Sunano led the woman to the counter. "Guys, this is my friend from book club. She'll be helping us out with the poster design."

The woman bowed shallowly, and the men returned the gesture. "It's nice to meet you," she said sincerely. "My name is Iwasaki Shino; I graduated from Todai last year. I'll be in your care."

"Nice to meet you!" Hinata and Kageyama said in unison before proceeding to introduce themselves as well.

"Come," Sunano invited, pulling her aside, "Let's brainstorm for a bit. Maybe we can even ask your sister, Sayori, for ideas!"

The morning went by peacefully, and Sunano reopened the shop for the afternoon wave of customers.

* * *

**May 5th, 2018**

Miya Osamu's funeral wake was today. Owning no traditional clothing, Sakusa dressed in an all black suit for the occasion, though he could only watch from afar. The funeral took place away from the bustling, wicked city that was Tokyo—took place in somewhere quieter and greener, so Osamu could rest in peace. He parked his car a distance away from the other funeral-goers, but in a place where he would have full view of the proceedings.

He could not see Osamu's face from where he was standing—would _never_ see his face again—but he didn't need to. It was the carbon copy of Atsumu's, and a face that haunted his dreams and nightmares.

It was a grim day, and Sakusa felt it in the heaviness of his chest and the ice in his veins.

Long shadows crept from the trees as they swayed in the wind, threatening to snatch up anyone who wandered too near.

Smelling rain on the wind, he lifted up a hand, and felt the first drops of an oncoming sunshower—fox rains. It was strangely fitting, Sakusa thought with mirthless smile, that the clouds would choose to mourn alongside Japan on this day, defying the will of the sun. He reached into his car, retrieving a black umbrella, which then sprung into bloom over his head. Even his face-mask was black today—a cloth thing that he had bought online and sanitized for a week before putting it on.

"Are you here for him, too?" a voice sounded from his right.

Sakusa didn't flinch, having heard the nigh silent footfall of the stranger. He turned to see a dark-haired man with a rather droopy, apathetic expression. There was a fox-like slant to his eyes, but his brows were straight. He stood with a slouch, as if the very action of standing up straight would drain the life out of him.

"Not really," he replied carefully.

"Ah." The man's expression didn't change. "That's kinda funny then. In a cruel way."

Sakusa gave him a look. "How so?"

"I'm standing here with you when I should be over there." He scoffed—he sounded absolutely _drained_. "They blacklisted me."

 _Who is this man?_ Sakusa's eyes narrowed, suspicion niggling in the back of his brain. There was a possibility of him being one of Hirakawa's lackeys, but... Somehow, that just didn't really fit correctly. "What's your relation to Miya?"

"I'm his partner." He said it outright with zero deliberation, something that wasn't common, and Sakusa thought he heard wrongly at first. "Suna Rintarou. We came out together last year to his family. Let's just say," he chuckled dryly, "they were less than receptive."

"I see," Sakusa acknowledged evenly. "I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, it sucked." Suna lowered his gaze. "But this sucks worse. Who are you, anyway?"

"I won't say."

"Hm? Why's that?"

The people were starting to depart; the priest had finished chanting his sutra, and the visitors were receiving gifts from Osamu's family—consisting of only his mother; Director Shō stood behind her with his hands clasped behind his back, unsmiling—in return for the condolence money that they had surrendered.

"Because," Sakusa said truthfully, folding his umbrella now that the rain had let up, "There's no reason. You'd only despise me."

Suna tilted his head, but didn't question it.

Not wanting to stick around for any longer, he returned to his car, placing his umbrella rather haphazardly on the back seat. Water droplets splashed. He would clean up that mess later—for now, he focused on disappearing, out of sight and out of mind.

He could feel Suna's piercing gaze boring a hole through the back of his head.

Suna Rintarou. Just more collateral damage in the killer's wake.

"Josephine," Sakusa instructed, voice dull, "Call Kindaichi."

"Calling: Kindaichi Yuutarou."

 _We'll need to meet up soon._ Sakusa drove slowly out of the memorial park and back to the city. _He has all the case files for Oikawa, and I have the ones for Osamu. And Sawamura is working on getting a list of names from 2008 KidProdigy._ He'd cautiously hidden them in his microwave—which he never used—and never left home without them. They were too important to be wrenched from his grasp.

Much to his annoyance, Kindaichi didn't answer the first time. Or the second time.

"Would you like to call again, sir?" asked Josephine.

"No," Sakusa ground out. "Leave it."

Suddenly, ringing echoed throughout the car, and Sakusa made a face. According to the screen, one _Midorima Shintaro_ was calling him.

"Answer call?" Josephine prompted.

"Yes, answer the call." Sakusa slowed to a stop in front of a traffic light. "Hello, Midorima," he drawled before the other man could. "I was wondering when you'd finally speak to me."

The deep baritone of the Chief Prosecutor boomed, his voice surrounding Sakusa as the black-haired prosecutor tapped his fingers on the leather of his steering wheel. The light turned as green as Midorima's hair, and he moved forward. _"I heard what happened. My condolences, Sakusa."_

Sakusa snorted. "Save your shitty, belated condolences. Did you know what she would do? You're married to the witch, after all."

Laughter—cruel, almost. _"Even after all these years, you still haven't warmed up to her one bit. It must be the Scorpio in you. Scorpios and so forth are always too possessive for their own good."_

"I'm not _possessive_ ," Sakusa denied tersely, glowering even though he knew Midorima couldn't see his displeasure. "Did you call to rib me, or is there an actual reason?"

There was a contemplative silence on Midorima's end. Then, finally, he revealed, _"I'm worried about her. Noriko, that is."_

"You should've started worrying the moment she refused your last name," he retorted.

 _"Enough with your petty jibes."_ He was starting to seem mildly irritated. Good. At least Sakusa wasn't the only one having his patience tested today. _"Listen to me, Sakusa. Noriko isn't the kind of person to make decisions on a whim. And when she does, she never frets over it."_

"Oh?" Sakusa's voice lilted in intrigue. "So she's fretting, is she? Why? Has the Minister of Justice been snooping too close?"

 _"Nothing like that. But it's as if she's expecting something dark and horrible to attack her. I know,"_ Midorima added, _"That you're defying her orders in your own way. You always have had a bent personality and so forth."_

"Hmph."

 _"Whatever you're doing, I ask that you stop._ No _, I won't get you into trouble. But trouble will find you if you keep this going. If Noriko is worried about it, it can't be good."_

"No," Sakusa refuted. " _You_ listen to _me_. Six years ago, a man—no, not even a man—a _boy_ was murdered in cold blood. His best friend was arrested based on evidence that can be considered _circumstantial_. That boy has been forced to grow up into a man in a _fucking prison cell_. I won't let your rose-tinted glasses get in the way of justice for Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime." _And all the other people this bastard has hurt._ "You've always been the logical type, but that woman's _star sign_ has _blinded_ you. You know I've always disapproved of your marriage, and this is just proving my stance. I am not _jealous_ ," his jaw clenched, "Or _possessive_ like she's led you to believe. Hirakawa has her own agenda. _She always has_."

 _"Tch."_ Midorima scoffed. _"As always, we cannot come to agreement whenever my wife is involved. When you inevitably get into trouble... don't expect me to bail you out. You're on your own, Sakusa."_

 _No,_ Sakusa corrected inwardly, _I'm not._ "Fine. Goodbye, Midorima."

Midorima hung up without a word.

And as much as Sakusa wanted to, he could not bring himself to loathe the man. Ever since Hirakawa had attached herself to his childhood friend like some blood-sucking parasite, Midorima had been... different. It was a shame—Midorima had been such a promising young man back then. But then she came, and Sakusa had been shoved out of the picture promptly after their union, which—he truly believed—was only one of convenience to someone like Hirakawa.

"Tch," Sakusa huffed, emulating the noise that Midorima had made just minutes before over the line. _Do all men become idiots when in love?_ He put that thought aside. _More importantly... What the hell is Kindaichi doing? It's Saturday_ — _he has no classes._ Maybe he turned his phone off, not wanting to be disturbed as he worked. _Ugh, whatever. I'll check up on him again later._

_But really..._

_Where is he, and what's he up to?_

* * *

The train ride back to Sendai was almost... nostalgic. Kindaichi could feel it permeating the carriage as he watched the countryside zoom past through the long windows. His phone had failed to charge last night, leaving him at forty-percent battery, so he had it switched off to save power. Currently, it was in his backpack, one of the only things he had brought along—the other items were a drink bottle and the notepad and pen Sakusa had given him all those weeks ago. It was almost filled out—he would need a new one, soon.

Sighing, he leaned back, tilting his head against the window. _Sakusa would probably freak if he was here._ But there had been nothing but dead silence from Sakusa's end, and it was—he would not lie—disheartening. He still had faith, though—faith that Sakusa would return and they would continue to work on the case behind the Prosecutor-General's back. He closed his eyes, relaxing into the warm glass.

"Mommy, mommy!" Kindaichi opened one eye to see a little girl pulling on the sleeve of her mother. She was curled in her mother's lap, having just awoken from a nap. "Are we there yet? Are we in Sendai yet?"

Her mother chuckled, running her fingers through her daughter's hair. "Not yet, dear."

"Aww..." The little girl yawned, pressing her face against her mother's breast. "Okay..."

"Rest, my darling. I'll wake you when we get there."

Soon, the young girl was sleeping once more, snoring gently.

Kindaichi looked away, frowning. He couldn't help but wonder—wonder how Oikawa's family was doing. They had moved to a faraway prefecture—Kindaichi did not know which one—not long after his death.

At the funeral... His sister had been inconsolable, to the point where even her own child—Oikawa's nephew Takeru, who would be fourteen this year—could not seek comfort in her arms. It'd been unbearable to watch—the Seijoh boy's team had been invited as guests. Kindaichi still remembered the packet of yen feeling heavy in his grasp as he passed it to a grieving family member.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget.

Easy to forget the ripples the death of Oikawa had caused, a stone cast violently into a still, undisturbed pond. There were the obvious ones, like Iwaizumi's incarceration, but then there were those that were overlooked in a smokescreen of tragedy. And Oikawa's family weren't the only ones that were still feeling the aftershocks of the murder—Seijoh hadn't been the same after that.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa dropped out of the team before the Spring Tournament could even commence, and the reserve third years plus Yahaba, Kyoutani, and Watari had been left to pick up the pieces, wild and frantic and grieving so terribly. Two out of three of the reserve third years had left shortly after, unable to handle the pressure and the flames.

And for Kindaichi and Kunimi...

He swallowed. _We were just first years back then._

They'd been moved into the background while their upperclassmen fought and bickered and exploded into swear words in their wounded fury. Kindaichi couldn't remember exactly how things had gone, but he recalled the loneliness and disbelief that had wrapped around him like a shroud. He and Kunimi had clung to each other in that time, almost to the point of becoming co-dependent as they tried their best to deal with a myriad of new and awful emotions.

Normally, what had happened felt like a long time ago, but sometimes it would feel like it had happened just yesterday.

It was one-thirty, according to his wristwatch, when he stepped out of the train and onto the platform of Sendai Station in Aoba-ku. It was already getting warm now that it was summer, and Kindaichi had the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to the elbow, exposing his forearms, which were mostly lean muscle. _By taxi, it should take around twenty minutes to get to Hanae-san's house... Good, that's enough time._

On the way out, he passed by a small memorial with fresh flowers sitting by it. _The Makoshima Memorial_ , it read on a plaque. Kindaichi gave it only a quick glance before he went to hail a taxi.

"Where ya headed?" the driver asked as he got in, and Kindaichi read him the address for him to punch into his phone GPS.

The driver dropped him off a few houses down from Hanae's home as per his request. With caution, he walked down the path, checking the residence plaques and numbers. When he found Hanae's one, he hesitated at the gate, which was taller than him.

He pressed the bell.

 _Alright,_ he coached himself as he saw the top of the front door open up, _I can do this._ Slowly, the gates opened, and a white face peeked out. "Hello," Kindaichi greeted. "I'm the one who messaged you. Kindaichi Yuutarou."

The gate opened wider for him to come in. Hanae Miyo had a face that was pleasant to look at, but lined with wariness. "Come in," she whispered, so quiet that Kindaichi almost didn't hear her.

Slowly, Kindaichi followed her inside. Due to her protruding belly, she was a sloth of a walker, but Kindaichi would be patient with her. Not only was she heavily pregnant, but she was also a potential key witness.

"Thank you," he said, removing his shoes at the entrance-way. "For helping me."

Hanae smiled. "That's quite alright. Do you want some tea?"

"That'd be awesome, thanks."

As Hanae prepared the tea in the kitchen, Kindaichi sat stiffly on the living room armchair, unable to tear his gaze away from the ball of fluff that was giving him the hairy eyeball from the couch. Her Spacebook profile _had_ said that she was a 'cat meme enthusiast', so perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised by the presence of her pet cat. Gingerly, he reached out toward it, maybe to pet it, but it hissed and swatted at him with claws unsheathed. Kindaichi retracted his hand just in time to avoid being scratched. "Right," he muttered, "Okay, then."

"Here you are." Hanae put down a tray of filled teacups on the table the chairs surrounded.

Kindaichi thanked her once more before taking the cup closest to him; Hanae grabbed the other one.

"So, Kindaichi-san," Hanae began, "How should we start?"

"Ah," Kindaichi retrieved his notepad—which he had used to pen down important questions—from his backpack, "I'll just ask you a few things. If you don't mind, of course."

"Not at all. Ask away."

"When you were a contestant in KidProdigy, what was your impression on Oikawa Tooru?"

"Oikawa Tooru..." Her smile grew a little sadder. "Yes... I remember him. He was a disaster of a cook."

 _Eh?_ It wasn't what Kindaichi had been expecting her to say, but he stayed silent, waiting for the rest of her answer. _If he was so bad at cooking, why'd he join a cooking show?_

"He was loud," continued Hanae. "But not in a bad way. He wasn't mean to anyone. I could tell that he really enjoyed attention. He was handsome, too, and a lot of the girls liked him. Overall, a decent impression. We never really talked much, but he was nice to me."

The way she said it implied that she existed outside of those girls, and Kindaichi had to ask, "You didn't... Uh, you didn't _swoon_ over him?"

Hanae giggled at that. "No, I didn't. I was older than him, for one, and there was already a boy in school I liked. I married him, actually—he's my husband." Absently, her hand rubbed her stomach.

"Oh," Kindaichi offered, "Congratulations." He wasn't really sure what else to say. "Next question—I was told that... You had some sort of relationship with the set manager, a man called Chen Jianhong. I'm sorry if this sounds presumptuous, but—"

"No, no," Hanae interrupted, lifting a hand. Under the grey afternoon light, it seemed very pale and fragile. "It's alright. I've been keeping it in for so many years... I'm ready to tell you about it. My greatest shame."

"... Continue when you're ready."

Hanae shifted on the couch. As if sensing her distress, her cat curled itself against her neck, purring. Taking a deep breath, she started her story.

* * *

**July 13th, 2008**

Looking around, Hanae Miyo knew that—at the age of fourteen—she was probably the oldest contestant in the room. Filming was to start tomorrow, and the producers had given them this afternoon to get to know each other. There were twenty-four children including her, and she stayed mostly out of the way as the younger ones mingled and chatted, fiddling with her fingers.

Most of them were social enough, but Hanae noticed some kept to themselves. The two that stuck out to her the most was—

"Hey, 'Samu."

"Yeah, 'Tsumu?"

"Ya got any mints?"

Osamu rolled his eyes. "Ya ate the last one on the way here."

 _Twins?_ Hanae blinked at them. _I've never met a pair of twins before._

The door slammed open then, and a brown-haired boy stood at the entrance, panting in exhaustion.

"Eh?" Atsumu grinned. "Who's this clown, 'Samu?"

"Dunno, 'Tsumu."

The boy sauntered in with a smirk on his face, as if he hadn't just been heaving like a dog at the front of the room. "Hey, guys! Sorry, I'm late." He went around the room and introduced himself as _Oikawa Tooru_.

They were allowed to talk for fifteen more minutes before the door opened once more, and Manager Chen Jianhong stepped inside with a clipboard. His gaze was intense, and it made goosebumps rise on Hanae's exposed arms. In a way, he reminded her of a hawk, and the children were lemmings. "Hey," he said, a rather aggressive edge to his voice. "I hope you're all acquainted now. Go down to the filming area—Director Shō has an important announcement to make, and then we're gonna go over some ground rules. Got it?" His eyes—they were _sanpaku_ , Hanae realized with a shudder—swept across the crowd before eventually landing on her.

"Got it!" the children chorused.

As they were ushered outside, Chen jabbed his finger at her. "Wait. You stay."

 _What? Why?_ Hanae gulped, her knees knocking. "Um, okay..." Suddenly, under his flinty eyes, she felt naked, and she wished nothing more but to have put a raincoat over her loose summer dress.

None of the other contestants bothered to look back, to check if she had followed. Chen closed the door behind them, then fished something out of his pocket. A bottle of orange juice, still cold from the refrigerator. "Here." He thrust the drink toward her. "It must've been stressful for you, with all those noisy brats." Chen smirked. "I've always hated kids. You can relate, right?"

Reluctantly, Hanae accepted the bottle, but she didn't drink from it. "Y-yeah," she stammered, peering up at him with round, doe-like eyes. "I mean, I _am_ the oldest... They're not... awful, though."

"You're fourteen, right?"

"Mhm..."

Chen smiled with all his teeth. "Enjoy it while it lasts. What's your name? I'm Chen Jianhong."

"I'm Hanae Miyo. It's nice to meet you, sir."

He patted her head. "None of that sir stuff. We don't need to be professional around each other. Call me Jianhong, Miyo-chan."

She felt strangely numb. "O-okay... Jianhong." The name didn't roll off her tongue right, but Chen merely laughed it off.

What was wrong with her? Chen was being nothing but nice to her.

_So why do I want to get away from him so bad?_

* * *

Hanae noticed that a lot of their parents were similar. The Miya twins' mother was certainly a lot like her own mother—selfish, narcissistic, and obsessed with even the slightest semblance of promised stardom. The two women were living vicariously through their kids, their children nothing more than vehicles to carry on a lofty dream that they hadn't been able to fulfill in their youth.

After filming ended one day—Hanae had secured an immunity pin with her take on a typical Japanese curry, much to her delight—the children all headed to the break area. Hanae sat by herself, having not formed any friendships with the younger contestants.

Sitting on the staircase, she observed them—Oikawa Tooru was very popular with both his female and male castmates, while the Miya twins didn't seem to be popular at all. Osamu got a lot more offers for conversation than Atsumu did, though. She didn't know why—Hanae would be the first to admit that she hadn't been paying much attention to the social politics. All her attention was devoted to avoiding—

"Hey, Miyo-chan."

And Hanae almost _cried_.

But she forced a smile to her face as she turned around to greet Manager Chen, who was holding a wrapped sandwich and a soda. He handed them to her, and she took them with a murmur of thanks. The food items felt heavy in her hands. "Thank you, Jianhong."

"Jianhong!" someone—she thought it was Atsumu or Osamu; probably the former—whispered loudly. "She calls him by his first name, 'Samu..."

Murmurs rippled through the assembly of children.

"Oi, you brats!" Chen snapped, his voice like the crack of a whip. "Shut up with your gossip. It's annoying as hell." They stopped their murmuring, and soon returned to their own conversations. "Don't listen to them, Miyo-chan." His hand brushed against her bare leg. She resolved to wear long pants only from now on. "If they do anything, just come to me, and I'll sort things out for you, okay?"

"Okay," Hanae whimpered, taking a bite out of her sandwich. It felt dry in her mouth despite the explosion of flavor on her palate.

* * *

"You're Hanae-san, right?"

She lifted her head to see Oikawa standing over her, frowning.

"Yeah," she mumbled, "That's me."

"Why do you call him Jianhong, hm?"

"None of your business."

"It is," Oikawa said matter-of-factly, "If you look so terrified every time he speaks to you."

And Hanae's eyes widened.

* * *

When others were around, Chen kept his distance from her. He was still friendly, but not overly so. It was only when the cameras stopped rolling and the adults (and children) turned their prying eyes away that he would even touch her.

It was nothing blatantly inappropriate. Just his hand brushing against her arm as they walked down the hall together, or when they sat together eating snacks he had brought down from the staff room.

Regardless, it felt... dirty.

Hanae didn't have a choice.

She watched, triumphant, as the judges' faces screwed up when they tasted her food in the elimination round. All the elements, she had made sure, were either overcooked or undercooked.

To nobody's surprise, she was eliminated.

Her mother yelled after the filming concluded.

"How could you possibly lose?!" she screamed, shaking her daughter by the shoulders. To the side, the Miya twins' mother was engaging in some gossip with other parents—undoubtedly about her.

"Mom, you're making a scene," Hanae stated calmly.

"I don't care! I hope you know that you've _disgraced_ our family."

"You're doing that all on your own, mom."

There was a loud smack, and Hanae reached up, stunned, to touch the slap mark on her cheek.

Her mother was angry, yes.

Unbelievably so.

But, for whatever reason, it was still _better_.

* * *

**May 5th, 2018**

"I didn't see any of them ever again after that," Hanae concluded, her eyes hooded as she took a sip of her tea. "But I was so _scared_. I would have never thought of that escape plan on my own. No," she looked up at Kindaichi, "Oikawa helped me. He would do his best to distract Chen all the time, and he was the one who came up with the idea of getting eliminated on purpose. So I'm thankful to him. When I heard he died..." She sighed. "Well, that's my story. I was eliminated in the early rounds, so I never really had time to bond with anyone on the set except Oikawa."

By the end of it, Kindaichi felt his lunch curdle in his stomach. His initial thoughts had been confirmed—Manager Chen had attempted to groom her, but she had broken free of his grasp. "You never told anyone about this?"

Hanae stared at him with sad eyes. "How could I? I had no evidence. Nothing. My own mother despised me, and if any adult even noticed what he was doing to me, they all turned a blind eye to it. What if he became angry and came after me? It would've just painted a bigger target on my back. What I can do is try to move on with my life, and," she rubbed her swollen belly, "that's what I'm doing."

Kindaichi grimaced. "I'm sorry. For reminding you of all this."

"That's alright. I needed to get it off my chest anyway. I fear that I may not be his only victim."

"Wait, what?"

Hanae bit her lip. "It was during one of the last times we saw each other. Chen... He said that he would wait for me. Wait for me to grow up so that we could be together."

All the color drained from Kindaichi's face. "That bastard—!"

"He called me," Hanae's voice dropped to a low whisper, " _Kiyoko_."

* * *

Kunimi glanced up from his phone to see Yachi and Yahaba meet up at the university quadrangle lawn, as she had stated. He stood hidden behind a pillar; their backs were to him. The pair exchanged conversation, Yachi nodding along with whatever Yahaba was saying, before they started to move, undoubtedly heading to their dinner date location.

He exhaled deeply.

_Okay then._

_Second date._

He pulled his cap down so that his eyes were hidden.

_Let's see how this goes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: May 5th is Deidara's birthday! My favorite explosion boy~! Just a lil trivia for ya there.
> 
> Comments/reviews/discussion/theories are love!


	16. The Tale of Yahaba (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For most of his life, Yahaba hadn't been anyone.

**May 5th, 2018**

Yahaba smiled in the mirror as he made final adjustments to his hair. Tonight was the night—his second date with Yachi.

Tonight, he would ask her out.

She would say yes, and they would be together for the rest of their days.

Satisfied, Yahaba grabbed his jacket from the coat hanger on the way out, said goodbye to Goshiki, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

**March 1st, 2009**

He could do nothing but stand at the door, his backpack slung over one shoulder as he gazed blankly at the hustle and bustle in the house. When he finally found his voice, his mother had put on her best scarf and was adjusting her hat—it was adorned with decorative flowers; his mother adored flowers—and his father was adjusting his tie, muttering something before checking his wristwatch. "Mom. Dad. Where are you going?"

"Ah, Shigeru," his mother gave him a brief glance, "We're flying to Hokkaido."

Yahaba didn't even flinch, already used to his parents jetting off with little to no notice. "Hokkaido?"

"That's right," his father added. "Your cousin's discovered a new galaxy—even the Prime Minister is going to congratulate him at the ceremony!"

"Wait," Yahaba said without much conviction, feeling as drab as he looked. "What about me?"

"Dear, we're going to be late," his mother said crisply, speaking to his father. Quickly, she gave Yahaba a kiss on the forehead. He could feel remnants of her crimson lipstick clinging to his dry skin. "Remember not to answer the door, and only pick up the phone if it's a familiar number."

And just like that, they were gone, wheeling along a single suitcase with them.

Yahaba closed the door when they were out of sight, dropping his backpack and padding to the kitchen. He almost slipped more than once, little friction between his socks and the cold tiles. He checked everywhere—the oven, the microwave, the fridge.

Perhaps it had been foolish of him to have expected a birthday cake.

Because Yahaba was _invisible_ —at school and at home.

 _"_ You have zero personality," the captain of the baseball club had informed him today, rather bluntly so. "No one wants to hang out with you, Yahaba."

His feet dragged as he went upstairs to the bathroom to stare intently at his own reflection in the mirror. The kids at school were pretty remarkable compared to him, he thought as he pulled his cheeks back so that the lining of his gum was exposed. He was missing a tooth in the top row—it had wobbled out a few days ago. His parents had promised him braces, but he didn't know when they would go through with their vow. Yahaba didn't think he was ugly. But he wasn't terribly good-looking either, with his dull, flat hair and expressionless eyes; maybe that was another problem of his.

At least his skin, while dry and flaky, was free of acne.

Yahaba laughed in the mirror, watching his reflection as he did so. Then he stopped. The corners of his mouth sagged a little, and his brows were pinched in a perpetual frown that made him look more unattractive than he actually was.

The only thing that he had going for him was volleyball—he was the setter of the boy's team at his middle school, an irreplaceable member.

Other than that, however, the boy well and truly knew one thing.

That Yahaba Shigeru was the shadow of a nobody.

* * *

**August 21st, 2009**

Akiyama Junior High were facing up against a powerhouse of a school today—Kitagawa Daiichi. Yahaba blended in with the rest of his teammates, watching Kitagawa's team warm up from afar. They certainly looked strong, but there only one boy that captured his attention immediately.

"Yosh!" Oikawa Tooru clapped his hands together, attracting the focus of his teammates. "I'm trusting you guys today! When we win, why don't we all head for ramen?"

Yahaba's own captain sneered at the opposing captain from across the net. "Feh... So this is the famed Oikawa Tooru... He doesn't look like much. It's hard to believe someone like him faced off against that monster Ushiwaka."

Yahaba noticed that his captain made sure that his words went unheard. _He's even intimidated captain. Somehow._

Awed, Yahaba did not notice a ball spiraling toward his face during practice serving.

"Look out!"

A hand shot out in front of him, catching the ball. Yahaba turned his head to see who the arm was connected to—it was Kitaichi's vice. Iwaizumi Hajime cocked a brow at his stunned expression before smirking slightly. "Hey, don't look like a deer caught in the headlights. We're 'boutta play a match soon." He chucked the ball in the air, Yahaba catching it.

"Ah," he stuttered. "Thanks..."

"Yoohoo~! Iwa-chan!" Oikawa practically skipped over to where they were standing, tilting his head curiously at the sight of Yahaba, who was trying to shrink into his shirt collar like a frightened turtle. "Consolidating with the enemy, are we? You should've let him get hit in the face—he deserved it for not paying attention."

Iwaizumi elbowed him. "Shuddup, Shittykawa. Unlike you, I have something called human decency."

"I'm thankful for his help!" Yahaba blurted.

"Oh? Is that so?" Oikawa scrutinized him even closer. "Akiyama Junior High... I think I played your team once, back in my first year. Right, Iwa-chan?"

"The hell should I know?"

Yahaba fidgeted, spinning the ball in his hands. He would've still been in elementary school when these two were first years. "So," he said, unwilling to allow them to leave so quickly, "You guys are Kitaichi's captains, right...? What positions do you play?"

"Setter," declared Oikawa, smugly.

"Wing spiker," Iwaizumi said at the same time. He didn't have the same amount of _presence_ that Oikawa did, but there was a quiet confidence in his words, and a steely edge in his tone.

Oikawa clutched his spiker's shoulder. "Not just any wing spiker," he boasted. "He's my _ace_."

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, the slightest flush on his cheeks. "Enough of this," he grunted, pulling Oikawa away. "You still haven't done twenty serves yet."

"Aww, but Iwa-chan...!"

"Hey," Yahaba said to his captain when they were getting into positions. "What high school do Kitaichi graduates usually go to? Do you know?"

The captain shot him a weird look. "No. Should I?"

"Never mind."

Yahaba knew his team was strong, but he also knew that Kitagawa Daiichi's team was stronger. Oikawa played like a demon, and Iwaizumi was equally terrifying—the amount of force he put in each spike impressed Yahaba immensely. There were a horde of Kitaichi reserve players on the bench, too—some onion-head kid was talking to his friends about how he was sure he was going to become a regular next year—while Akiyama's reserve players totaled to two.

"Good game," Yahaba's captain bit out when they shook hands under the net.

Oikawa grinned, apparently not noticing the thinly veiled hostility. "Good game."

Yahaba's team had lost all three practice matches.

It was humbling, to say the least, and Yahaba looked on in envy as Oikawa and Iwaizumi were swarmed by their teammates, all offering hearty congratulations and whooping at the prospect of ramen later today. Where he was standing, with his own teammates, there was no such celebration going on.

 _I want to be there,_ he thought, his grip on his drink bottle tightening. Oikawa Tooru was the centre of attention. _I want to be there, too._

"I'll confess to Sayori-chan," Oikawa was saying excitedly as they left as a group. As a _team_.

A blonde girl about their age skipped after him, eyes wide and shining.

"Damn," Yahaba heard one of his own teammates say, "She's hella cute."

Iwasaki Sayori was blonde and pretty and had a personality like gentle sunshine. Yahaba would find all this out later, but for now, he made note of one thing.

_Oikawa likes blondes._

That day, Yahaba developed a taste for blondes, too.

* * *

**April 1st, 2011**

_Finally._

He squared his shoulders, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly as he peered up at Aobajosai's grand school building.

 _High school._ Yahaba tried a smile. It was one he had practiced to perfection in the mirror—one he had learned from Oikawa Tooru when they had crossed paths for the first time. _These are supposed to be the best years of my life._

Two years had passed since he had met Oikawa, and in those two years, the burden of invisibility he carried had significantly lightened. His skin was no longer dry or flaky—he had stated using moisturizer—and his hair had volume and (some) shine (thanks to a perm and some hair care products), bangs no longer falling so gloomily over his eyes. He was still a little plain-looking, in his own opinion, but he was... _cute_.

"Ohhh, Yahaba-kun, is that you?" a black-haired girl sidled up next to him, beaming. It was Tsuji Runa, looking pretty and prim as always. They'd both gone to Akiyama Junior High, though they'd only ever shared one class together. She was wearing the slightest hint of makeup, her lips slick with gloss and her high cheeks tinted with rouge. "You chose Seijoh, too? That's awesome!"

Tsuji, Yahaba remembered, had been popular. She'd been Akiyama's beloved princess, and boys had fawned over her traditional beauty. Yahaba returned her smile, a gesture in the banks of his muscle memory. "Good morning, Tsuji-san. I didn't realize you'd be going here, too."

"Aww." She pouted as they walked through the gates together. "So mean, Yahaba-kun. Would you have gone somewhere else if you'd known?"

"Of course not. I'm glad you're here with me, Tsuji-san."

Predictably, Tsuji blushed, finding the concrete path incredibly interesting all of a sudden. "G-geez, don't say things like that, Yahaba-kun... Keep that up, and I might fall for you."

It was friendly teasing, he realized, and he was determined to keep it going. "Maybe you—gyak!" Yahaba bit down hard on his own tongue when a male student shoved him aside with nary a glance. "Oi! Come back here!"

"What?" The student whirled around, lip curled. With his blond hair—cropped short—and piercing honey eyes, he cut an intimidating figure. Tsuji trembled beneath his gaze, but Yahaba stood strong. He would not let this _delinquent_ cow him.

"Oh, I dunno," sarcasm rolled off his tongue with ease, "Maybe you should _apologize_?" _Ugh. Who is this fucker?_

A vein popping in his cheek, the other boy stalked up to Yahaba, who couldn't help but blink at the height difference between them. He was... short. Shorter up close at least. Yahaba had to tilt his chin down.

"I'm sorry," the boy jeered, "That you couldn't move your big head outta the way in time."

 _What the hell is his problem?!_ "Wait—so _I'm_ at fault here? You're the one who charged through like a baby rhinoceros! Have some basic awareness!"

"Stop whining, bitch."

"You bastard—!"

"Yahaba-kun, that's enough!" Tsuji cried, grabbing his arm. "There's no point in fighting bad guys." She glared at the aggressive student. "Bad guys will be bad guys. He's not worth your time."

"If there's anything I hate more than pretty boys like you, it's mouthy fan girls."

"I'm no fan girl," Tsuji stated, braver than Yahaba had initially thought she would be. She marched up to him and prodded him in the chest indignantly. "But you can't just go around treating people like that! Jerk!" With that, she took Yahaba by the hand and dragged him off. "Hmph," she sniffed. "I hate guys like that."

"Yeah," Yahaba agreed gravely, glowering behind his shoulder. "Me too."

So, of course, they ended up on the same team.

* * *

**March, 2011**

There were, including him, a total of three first years on the boy's volleyball team. His two fellow first years were called Watari Shinji and Kyoutani Kentarou. Watari had a head full of hair that made him look like a rock star, and he was the less problematic first year. Over the first month together with them, Yahaba formed an amiable bond with Watari. Watari was the reserve libero, while Yahaba was the reserve setter.

Kyoutani, though...

"Does he only communicate in grunts?" Yahaba deadpanned one day, he and Watari going through stretches on the floor. Some distance away, Kyoutani was having some sort of confrontation with an upperclassman that was more sounds than words.

Watari chuckled. "That's Kyoutani-san for you."

"How can you say that? That dude's a _horror_."

"He's not that bad." Watari was diplomatic. "I'm sure he's not rude all the time."

The argument ended with Kyoutani throwing a drink bottle so hard against the wall that it cracked on impact.

Yahaba gave Watari a wry glance. "You sure about that?"

"Sure. If you're rude and mean all the time, you'll get tired quickly. We're athletes, so we can't afford that."

It seemed logical enough, Yahaba supposed. He wasn't so convinced, though—with the way Kyoutani played, he was more inclined to believe that the blond had a nigh infinite supply of energy. Enough energy to the aggressor in every social situation he put himself in.

"Yooo, Mad-dog-chan!"

And there he was. Oikawa Tooru. Fearless and friendly as he approached the raging Kyoutani. He had his hands tucked in his shorts and his posture was decidedly relaxed—no matter what, Yahaba couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away.

"Why so mad, huh?"

"Fuck off," Kyoutani hissed, dodging Oikawa.

"Is your hand hurt?" Oikawa asked, trotting after him. "You should get the nurse to check that."

 _His hand is hurt?_ Yahaba did a double-take before noticing the way Kyoutani was holding his wrist to his chest. There was a speck of blood on his skin—he must have cut himself on a piece of the hard plastic bottle.

"Look at that Oikawa," one of the third years said as he walked past Watari and Yahaba, talking to his friend. "Chasing after that bleeding fuck."

It was no secret that most—if not all—of the current third years particularly disliked Kyoutani. Yahaba couldn't even blame them. Kyoutani constantly undermined their authority as underclassmen, both on and off the court.

"It's fine, so shut up," growled Kyoutani, whipping around to try and glare Oikawa into submission.

Yahaba watched carefully, not really hearing whatever Watari was saying about the situation.

"It doesn't look fine," pointed out Oikawa. He reached out toward him, but Kyoutani ruthlessly smacked his hand aside.

"Quit it! Why do you care so much, anyway?!"

"Oh boy." Yahaba noticed Iwaizumi standing by them for the first time, a towel slung around his neck.

"He's not going to punch Oikawa-san, is he?" Watari wondered.

Iwaizumi grimaced. "Nah. Well, maybe. But it's not him I'm worried about. Besides," he lifted up a muscled arm, "Shittykawa can handle a few hits if it comes to that."

Watari laughed heartily. "You sound like you're speaking from experience, Iwaizumi-san."

"I care," Oikawa's voice rose, carrying across the gym, "About the performance of our _team_." There was no longer any laughter or airs in his tone, just hard truth. It sent a chill down Yahaba's spine, and even the easygoing Watari shifted in discomfort. "You're part of that, too, Mad-dog-chan. Do you think it's just you on the team? Because you're not. So stop being so selfish. It's _annoying_." Then, as if he had never said those things, he guffawed. "That being said, you're a pretty good hitter! And it's my job as setter to bring out the best in each of my teammates, which is why I'm badgering you. It's too bad you have such a rotten personality. Ahahaha!"

Iwaizumi palmed his face. "This coming from that guy..."

"What would you do then?" Yahaba inquired, sounding almost accusatory.

"Me?" Iwaizumi raised a brow. "I'd just whack some sense into him."

For an uncomfortably long amount of time, Kyoutani just stared at Oikawa, who stared back, smiling. Before Yahaba could open his mouth to say something, Oikawa took a step toward Kyoutani, and the blond leaped backward like a startled animal.

"Oh?" Oikawa seemed bemused by this new development. "That's interesting. Is this some wild animal instinct you have?"

"He can just sense you're a terrible person!" Iwaizumi shouted across the court.

"Read the room, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa yelled back, turning his head to the side. "I was just starting to get through to him!" He turned again to face Kyoutani, but the younger boy had already put some distance between them, disappearing out the door.

"More like you chased him off," a second year, Hanamaki, snorted.

"I don't blame him. Oikawa's a scary guy," hummed Matsukawa. "When he wants to be, at least. He's just an idiot clown most of the time."

"Aw, come on!" whined Oikawa. "I'm not that bad!"

"If I squeeze your nose, will it honk?"

"Makki!"

 _The job of the setter is to bring out the best of his teammates, huh?_ Yahaba mulled over Oikawa's words in his head, turning them over and over again like a spitfire roast. Resolve hardening, Yahaba stood, making Watari flinch. "I'm going after him," he announced, making heads turn. "Keep playing without me."

"Well, well, well," mused Oikawa as Yahaba left, walking to Iwaizumi. "Look's like Yahaba-kun has a little fire in him after all."

Iwaizumi let out a noncommittal grunt, throwing his towel aside.

* * *

Yahaba found Kyoutani sitting on a grassy hill outside the gym. He made sure his approaching footsteps were heavy enough to be heard before lowering himself next to him. "Hey."

Kyoutani's nose scrunched up. "What do _you_ want?"

"Why are you so angry all the time?" Yahaba got straight to the point.

"Th'fuck? I'm not angry."

"Uh. Then what was that little display back there? Do you not remember throwing your drink bottle against the wall like it killed your dog?"

"What?" Kyoutani's eyes widened in alarm. "What happened to Cookie?!"

 _Cookie? Is that his dog?_ "Nothing happened to Cookie!" Yahaba hastily reassured, raising his hands. "Cookie's fine... Kyoutani-san."

"Just Kyoutani. I hate that formal shit."

"Kyoutani," Yahaba tried again, "If you're not angry, then why..."

Thankfully, Kyoutani seemed to be able to grasp what he was getting at. Grumbling, he picked up a rock and threw it down the hill. It hit the gate. "'Cause they're idiots," he said cruelly. "And idiots are fucking annoying. Especially the third years—they're the biggest idiots I've ever met." He turned to Yahaba. "You are, too."

"Gee, thanks."

"The senpai are always going on about respect," Kyoutani went on, "Without making themselves respectable first."

Yahaba kept his expression neutral. It wasn't difficult. "I see."

"You're no better."

"I don't care what you think."

Kyoutani sneered. "Yeah, you _do_. You care about what _everyone_ thinks." Yahaba balked and tried to respond, but Kyoutani wasn't done. "You're a people-pleaser. You always agree with whatever the senpai say, and you always try to copy them, too. Especially that Oikawa guy."

"Oikawa- _san_ ," Yahaba said firmly. "Is a person worth respecting. I don't know about the third years, but Oikawa-san... He's worth listening to."

Kyoutani didn't respond, deliberating his answer. He did it for so long that Yahaba began to wonder if dragging pauses were just a thing with Kyoutani Kentarou. "Yeah, maybe," he admitted, begrudgingly. "So that's why you wanna be like him? So people listen to _you_?"

"I... Yeah, so what? So what if I do?"

"Well, don't be."

Yahaba blinked. "Huh?"

"Are you fucking deaf?" Kyoutani snapped. "Stop trying so hard, it's fucking creepy. You're not Oikawa, dumbass, you're... Wait, what's your name?"

"You don't even know my _name_?!"

"Who cares?!"

" _Me_! I care!"

"Just tell me your name, dammit!"

Yahaba spluttered. "Fuck, that just makes me not wanna do that!"

"You're seriously that petty?!"

"Yes! Yes, I am! But I really wanna know what you're gonna say, so _fine_! My name is Yahaba! My name is _Yahaba Shigeru!_ "

Kyoutani deadpanned at him. "Was it really that hard?" He laid down on the grass. "You basically finished my sentence, anyway, so whatever."

"What?!"

"You gotta problem with that?"

Aggressively, Yahaba copied his posture, down to even the crossed leg. "You're pissing me off."

"Good. At least I'm not the only one that's pissed, you twat."

Yahaba's cheek pressed against the grass as he turned to face Kyoutani. "So that's it, then? We're just skipping practice like two sad sacks?"

"No one's forcing you to be here." Kyoutani's leg swayed lazily as he observed the sky. "But if you _really_ need to hang around me... Then stop being someone you're not. It's fucking annoying as hell. If you keep doing it, I'll punch you in your chameleon mug, and then your precious Oikawa, too."

"Way to resort to violence," Yahaba muttered, brow lowering.

He didn't know how long they were there for until a shadow loomed over them, and they both rolled their eyes up to see the curious stare of Tsuji Runa, who was dressed in her softball uniform, most of her silky black hair hidden in her cap. "Um... Yahaba-kun? Aren't you supposed to be at practice? Why are you with," she frowned a little, unable to hide her dislike, "Kyoutani-san?"

"We're skipping club," Kyoutani droned before Yahaba could reply.

Yahaba fully expected Tsuji to scold them and then run for a teacher, but she just sat cross-legged above their heads. "And why is that, hm?"

"No reason," said Yahaba.

At the same time, Kyoutani stated, "It's a waste of my damn time, that's why."

Tsuji rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me he's influencing you, Yahaba-kun."

"I'm not doing a damn thing, bitch."

"Ugh! You're incorrigible! Ew, is your hand bleeding?! Go see the nurse!"

"You can't stop yapping, can you? The bleeding stopped a while ago, idiot girl!"

"Guys, guys," Yahaba sighed. "Stop fighting before a teacher catches us. Tsuji-chan, maybe you should sit lower so nobody sees your head."

Taking his advice, Tsuji wriggled between the two of them, much to Kyoutani's irritation. She proceeded to lay down on the grass, mimicking them. "I swear," she mumbled, "We're all gonna get in trouble."

"Then leave," retorted Kyoutani.

"I can't! I'm not leaving Yahaba-kun with _you_."

"Do you think I'm gonna eat him or something?!"

"Guys," Yahaba said loudly. "Stop. Why don't we all calm down, hm? Let's gaze at the clouds. Or something."

To his bemusement, they actually listened. Tsuji listening wasn't a shock, but Kyoutani...

 _Maybe,_ realized Yahaba, remembering what Watari had said about anger tiring them quickly, _Kyoutani's tired, too._ His eyes shifted so that could see Kyoutani in his peripheral, over Tsuji's nose, which looked like a mountain up close, but was button-like and cute in reality. The blond's eyes were nearly completely closed, the drifting clouds lulling him to a slumber.

Yahaba took a deep breath before exhaling.

Here, with them, he wasn't Oikawa.

He was Yahaba.

And for the first time, that was okay.

* * *

**November 15th, 2012**

_So why?_ Yahaba demanded silently, distraught as Irihata's mouth moved but no sound came out to him. _Why couldn't it keep being okay?_

Iwaizumi hadn't come to school today.

Now, they all knew why.

"NO!" Hanamaki bellowed, tears gathering in his eyes. He started to laugh—it was mirthless and void. "Hah... Hahahaha! This is a joke! This is a joke, right, coach?!"

Irihata's mouth pressed together grimly, and Mizoguchi looked _torn_.

As Hanamaki's laugh dissolved into something tearful and hysterical, Yahaba turned desperately to Kyoutani, who had yet to say a word to the news. The blond was just staring at the wall, his knees hugged close to his chest and looking smaller than Yahaba had ever seen him.

"Well, you got us!" crowed Hanamaki, standing and spreading his arms. "You got us, good, Oikawa, even getting the coaches and Iwaizumi in on this! Come out, already! Come out, already, Oikawa!"

"Makki," Matsukawa choked out, pressing his fist to his mouth as he tried to hold back tears. "Makki, stop. Please stop. I... I listened to the morning radio, and..."

"The radio?!" Hanamaki's eyes widened, the first tears of the day falling as he smiled, the corners of his lips twitching erratically. "Oikawa... You even got the radio in on this, too?! That's some fucking dedication right there, so just come out and say you got us good, okay?!"

"Hanamaki, _please_ ," Kunimi begged—actually _begged_ —like his life was on the line. He was holding hands with Kindaichi, their knuckles so white Yahaba thought their hands had been stripped of flesh, leaving only bone behind. And Kunimi's eyes... They were swollen and puffy, as if he had been crying before this. "Please shut up, oh my god—"

"Why should he?!" Kyoutani suddenly exploded. "He's right! Fucking Oikawa... Always fucking around...!"

"Kentarou," Yahaba whispered, unheard.

Because nobody ever wanted to hear him, did they?

"See?!" Hanamaki pointed wildly at Kyoutani. "He agrees! This is all just a prank!"

"It's not a prank!" Mizoguchi burst out, taking a step forward toward where Hanamaki was staggering. "Takahiro, sit down, please. I..." He swallowed thickly.

 _Even the coaches don't know what to do,_ Yahaba thought, lowering his gaze so that his dull stare was pointed at his hands—smooth skin with the occasional callous on the palm, perfectly clipped nails; a setter's hands. When he peered up again, Mizoguchi had pulled Hanamaki into a tight embrace, the pink-haired third year wailing at the ceiling and trying to wrestle himself from Mizoguchi. Irihata and Matsukawa stepped around the assembled group to help the younger coach in calming Hanamaki down.

"I," Kindaichi stammered, balking as he watched Hanamaki break down. "This can't be real..." He brought his hands up to his head and squeezed around his skull, his breaths shallow. "My head... It hurts so much...!"

"Oh, who gives a fuck?!" Kyoutani roared, aiming his glare at Kindaichi, who cowered. "Stop your fucking _whining_ because this isn't the damn time!"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" Kunimi hissed. "You shut the fuck up, _Mad-dog_!"

Kyoutani scrambled to his feet. "Th'fuck did you just call me?! Come over here and fucking make me, you lazy fuck! I'll beat the shit outta you!"

"Kentarou, no!" Yahaba shouted, going ignored once more.

Two of the third years—Sawauchi and Shido—grabbed Kyoutani and held him back, Kunimi standing defensively over where Kindaichi was huddled. Feeling like he needed to take some sort of action, Yahaba got to his feet and stood with Kunimi.

"You're on _his_ side?" spat Kyoutani.

Yahaba's voice wavered. "I'm not on anyone's side. Kentarou, there isn't a side—"

"There is! Mine or these two _whiny-ass bitches'_! You know what?" With terrifying ease, he wrested himself out of the third years' grip. "I'm done. I'm fucking done with all this shit."

With that, he stormed out of the gym, and Yahaba could only stare after him helplessly before turning back to the carnage. Hanamaki was no longer trying to fight. Instead, he was in Matsukawa's arms, sobbing violently into his shirt. Matsukawa seem to be in some sort of cathartic state, nothing on his mien to show that he was aware of the tears slipping down his cheeks.

Frazzled, Irihata and Mizoguchi gave the two their space.

Kunimi was still glowering balefully at the door, and Kindaichi was wrapping his jacket tightly around himself, still holding his head to try and ease the throbbing migraines. Yuda, a third year, was sniffling quietly into his hands, his shoulders occasionally wracking with a sob.

The coaches didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything to sweep up the wanton disarray that they had fallen into.

 _Wait_ , Yahaba wanted to say. _How could this happen?_ How had everything fallen apart so fast, smashed to pieces? Everything Yahaba had ever known and loved... It was gone. Gone with Oikawa.

 _Wait. Please_ , Yahaba wanted to implore. _Please slow down_. He needed time. He needed time. Everything was happening too quickly, and he needed _time_.

Yahaba's feet felt heavy, as if they had been rooted into the ground. Even if he wanted to chase after Kyoutani, he wouldn't be able to. _Oikawa's dead. Oikawa's dead. Where's Iwaizumi?_ His throat tightened. _Where's Iwaizumi? Oikawa's dead. Oikawa's dead._ It was like a part of him had died, too.

The back of his eyes burned, and he finally let it all go and gave into the pressure, burying his face into his arms.

* * *

Outside the gym, Tsuji pressed her back against the wall and cried softly into her winter mittens.

Cried for the tragedy that they had all found themselves in the midst of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Backstory time! Just like with Kageyama, Yahaba gets a backstory spanning over more than one chapter. His will be shorter, though, just two chapters. Then we'll get back to the main story (will probably happen toward the end of the next chapter). Sorry if you find this tiring, but I do this intentionally to show the waves that the killer has made. The mystery isn't the only part of the story—it's the impact of the killer's actions, too.
> 
> Also, Iwaizumi's first official appearance, as a child, though :D


	17. The Tale of Yahaba (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yahaba's life is torn apart, and he does his best to patch things up.

**November 16th, 2012**

Yahaba woke up in the darkness of his bedroom, blinking blearily up at the ceiling. As soon as consciousness set in, everything that had happened yesterday came flooding back, and he almost _cried_ right then and there.

Hanamaki's breakdown.

Kindaichi's headaches.

Kyoutani's outburst.

Yuda's quiet sobbing.

And he saw himself, too, standing there uselessly as his teammates fell apart.

Listlessly, he turned in his bed to check his alarm clock. It was half past six. _Now what?_ It was a Friday, meaning that it was a school day, but Yahaba wasn't sure if he wanted to go to school today. _But then,_ he sat up, _If I don't go to school, where else would I go?_

He couldn't stay in the house—he could already hear his mother coming down the corridor looking for her appointment book, which she always seemed to misplace. Ever since his second year of high school had begun, his parents had started paying a lot more attention to his studies than ever before. They had probably realized how that must have looked having a mediocre son while their relatives had bred countless of smart and successful children.

Yahaba put little effort into his dress—stumbling down the stairs with a crooked tie and one strap of his backpack drooping down his shoulder. He grabbed a slice of buttered toast for breakfast before putting his shoes on and heading out the door.

The walk to school was longer and more arduous than he remembered it being.

Or maybe it was just the crushing weight on his shoulders.

Even the school appeared different, Yahaba thought absently as he walked through the gates. Aobajosai... was in mourning. He passed by several crying girls, all of whom had admired and loved Oikawa deeply. There wasn't a single smiling face—it was all grim expressions and clenched fists.

Overnight, a shrine had been put up in the hallway. Yahaba stared at Oikawa's grinning portrait, dumbfounded at the speed at which the school administration had worked to uphold their integrity. The shrine was surrounded by presents.

From his peripheral, he noticed a blonde girl appear beside him. He turned, noticing that her eyes were puffy and swollen, as if she had been crying all night. And, Yahaba realized with no small amount of horror, she probably had been. Because this wasn't just any girl. This was—

"Iwasaki Sayori-san," Yahaba blurted without thinking.

Sayori whipped around, her face lighting up for a second before falling. "Oh... I thought you were... I didn't realize..."

 _She thought I was Oikawa,_ he finished in his head. "I'm sorry."

Sayori and Oikawa had broken up before Yahaba's entry into Aobajosai, but he knew that his death must have been hard on her. She ducked her head, murmuring, "Excuse me." Yahaba watched her leave with sad eyes.

"Shigeru-kun?" a soft voice sounded behind him.

Yahaba turned slowly, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he saw Tsuji. She was without makeup today, and she had let down her hair. Fluffy earmuffs warmed her ears. "Hey, Runa."

Tsuji's eyebrows slanted upward in her melancholy. "I'm so sorry, Shigeru-kun. I..." She choked back a sob. "I can't imagine... How hard it is for you."

Yahaba nodded stiffly. "Thanks."

His friend looked around, biting her lip. "Kyoutani-kun... He's not with you?"

When they had all laid down together as first years on that hilltop that day, it had been a beginning for them. The start of an unexpected, begrudging friendship. A friendship where Yahaba was the glue connecting Kyoutani and Tsuji. But slowly, over time, Yahaba knew that Tsuji had begun to care for Kyoutani as a friend, too. "No," Yahaba answered, hoarsely. "I dunno where he is. I haven't seen him since," the words almost got stuck in his throat, "yesterday morning."

"He's not answering any of my calls," Tsuji informed him miserably. "What about you?"

"I called him once, but he didn't pick up."

"Maybe I should try again—"

"No," Yahaba stopped her from reaching into her jacket pocket; her arm felt frail under his hand, "Don't. He probably wants to be alone right now."

"Oh... right." Tsuji sighed. "I should've expected that. He looked up to Iwaizumi so much."

 _Huh? Iwaizumi? What's he got to do with this?_ Sure, Iwaizumi had been absent yesterday morning, but wasn't that just him taking time off to mourn his best friend? "Runa," Yahaba was nearly too afraid to ask, "What are you talking about?"

At his question, Tsuji looked absolutely mortified. "You... You mean you don't know?"

"Know?" His heart jumped to his throat. "Know what?"

Tsuji was on the verge of tears as she told him, "Iwaizumi was arrested last night. For murdering Oikawa."

Yahaba's world stopped. _Iwaizumi... was arrested? For... killing Oikawa?_ His stomach lurched, and he felt ready to puke, his hand clasping over his mouth as his body trembled. "Oh god," he rasped. "No, Runa, please tell me that isn't true." _No... No way! No way! There's no way Iwaizumi would kill Oikawa!_ Then a stone dropped into his stomach as he backpedaled. _Or... would he?_ Them being his upperclassmen, Yahaba hadn't been awfully close to them—not close enough to know anything about their personal lives in any case. Truly—what did he know about Iwaizumi? About Oikawa? What if they had had some kind of falling out that turned violent?

"I'm sorry, Shigeru-kun... But it's true. It was on the news last night, and this morning, too." Tsuji glanced away, her eyes glossy with tears. "I'm sorry, Shigeru-kun! I'm so, so sorry."

This was it.

The world as he knew it was ending for good.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

"I'm sorry," Yahaba murmured, stepping away from Tsuji. "But... I need to go."

"Okay. Um, I'll see you in class, then!"

"Yeah, see you."

It was shaping up to be a cold, cold winter this year as Yahaba weaved his way through the crowd, exiting through a side entrance. From there, he stalked to one of the school gym—the one that his volleyball team always practiced in. He didn't know if anyone would be there, but there was simply nowhere else for him to _go_.

Yahaba slid the door open with great force, and a few pairs of eyes turned warily to him, taking in his disheveled appearance. They weren't looking much better. None of the third years or the coaches were here—just the first and second years.

 _Kentarou isn't here either,_ Yahaba noticed with a sinking heart.

"Yahaba!" Watari cried.

Weakly, Yahaba lifted a hand. "Hey."

They looked awful. Every single one of them looked _awful_.

_Except Watari._

Watari seemed... almost normal. Yahaba didn't know how to feel about that. Yes, the libero had bags under his eyes from a sleepless night, but...

"What are you guys doing here?" Yahaba managed to ask.

"Same as you, probably," Kunimi replied blandly. "We don't know where else to go."

Kindaichi didn't say anything.

 _So this is our team now?_ Yahaba's throat bobbed. Their broken, shattered team. It made him want to beat his fist against the wall and scream at the injustice of it all. "Um... Where are the third years?"

"I saw Sawauchi-san and Shido-san," Watari voiced. "They were heading into the faculty room. I don't know what for. I don't think Yuda-san, Hanamaki-san, and Matsukawa-san are here today, though..."

"What about Iwaizumi-san?" Kindaichi spoke for the first time, eyes round.

 _Ah._ Yahaba squeezed the strap of his backpack. _He doesn't know?_ He scanned the room. _Do any of them know?_ "I... No, Iwaizumi's not here."

"Where is he, then?"

Yahaba was saved from answering when the coaches and the third years finally arrived. Hanamaki was glaring at the floor with red-rimmed eyes, while Matsukawa wore a mask of faux indifference. Yuda, Sawauchi, and Shido were standing further apart from each other than usual—they were normally like three peas in a pod.

"Listen up, everyone," Irihata said tiredly, looking older than Yahaba remembered him being. "I don't know if all of you have heard, but..." He sighed heavily. "Iwaizumi was arrested last night. As a suspect for Oikawa's... murder."

"WHAT?!" The color seeped out of Kindaichi's cheeks. Desperately, he peered at Yahaba. "You knew about this?"

"I found out this morning," Yahaba replied tersely.

"Quiet." There was no force behind Irihata's words, but they shut up anyway. "I know it's a difficult time right now, but... The police are going to be coming today to ask us some questions. I ask you to answer each and every one of them honestly."

"That's bullshit!" Hanamaki snarled with surprisingly fierce conviction. "They already have the guy, don't they?!"

"What?" Kindaichi sputtered. "How could you say that, Hanamaki-san?!"

"What?! We all know it's the truth, don't we?! Iwaizumi _killed_ him."

"You don't mean that!" Yuda jumped in, fat tears spilling from his eyes as he turned to Hanamaki, a wounded expression on his mien. "Iwaizumi didn't! There's no way he could have!"

"And how the fuck do you know?!" Hanamaki spat.

 _He's just upset,_ Yahaba tried telling himself, though he was starting to slip. _He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it... Iwaizumi didn't kill Oikawa. He didn't. He didn't kill Oikawa. He didn't kill me._ He blinked. _Oikawa. He didn't kill Oikawa. What am I thinking...?_

"Makki!" Mizoguchi said sharply. "That's enough."

"Enough?" Hanamaki echoed in disbelief. "How will it ever be enough?!"

"Whether Iwaizumi did or didn't kill him," Mizoguchi's nostrils flared, "Is not up to us."

There was so much anger. So much sadness. It made Yahaba's head want to implode. So much negativity and simmering emotions in one room—it was suffocating him. They did quiet down, though. The boys sat down in front of the coaches, and Irihata went through with them about the procedures they would need to undertake today. Apparently, they could be pulled from class at any time of day, so they needed to be prepared.

"Has anyone seen Kyoutani?" Irihata asked at the end of his explanation. There was no affirmation from anyone. "Watari," he called on the bald libero next, "You're in Kyoutani's class, right?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to pass on the message? Although," Watari hesitated, "I'm not sure if he's even at school today."

"If he isn't, then there's nothing we can do about it. The police will just question him at home."

And that was that.

* * *

**November 20th, 2012**

Kyoutani did not make an appearance until Tuesday morning. He said nothing as he walked inside the gym, where the nets were halfheartedly set up and the team were doing serves and receives. Yahaba fumbled the ball when he appeared, throwing his bag aside and arching his back in a stretch. _Kentarou..._

Kindaichi and Kunimi seemed to be especially cautious around the temperamental blond, the former taking special care not to get in his way. Which included putting a Kunimi-sized space between himself and Kyoutani when they were lined up for spiking practice.

It was all they could do—practice. Try to get back into a normal routine, even when nothing was normal at the moment. It wasn't just within the team, either—Yahaba had seen first hand what kind of cards Oikawa's death had dealt for the rest of the school. Aobajosai had received nationwide coverage—and with that coverage came extensive criticism and calls to shut down the school. Yahaba didn't understand why—it wasn't the school's fault, but angry parents from all over the country were demanding compensation from the wrong party anyway.

As for the students...

There was a muted sorrow that permeated the student body. What was once a place of joyful laughter had transformed into something bleaker. Oikawa had been popular—almost too popular for his own good, in Yahaba's opinion. His fans were arguably the most upset after the team, and Oikawa had had many, many fans.

Some of his ex-girlfriends were mobbed for commentary by particularly callous students, too, which was the cherry on top of the whole debacle. Yahaba recalled seeing Iwasaki Sayori burst into tears when some girls persisted in their probing, and Makoshima Naoko had almost punched the basketball club's captain in the nose when he pestered her for the umpteenth time. Nobody dared approach Izumi Chiyoko, however, the surly vice-president of the martial arts club.

But, if Yahaba had to decide what the worst part of his aftermath was, it had to be—

"I'm sick of this!" Yuda shouted at Sawauchi. "Why do you have to bring it up everywhere we go?!"

"Because you're always trying to defend him!" Sawauchi yelled back, Shido nodding. "Yuda, didn't you read the news? They found the murder weapon with his fingerprints all over it!"

"It's circular reporting! Why can't we wait until after the trial to condemn him?!"

"No, no," Hanamaki cut in cruelly, "You're right, Sawauchi."

"Nobody's right," Kunimi tried to appease them, sounding as tired as he looked. He seemed to be favoring one of his arms over the other, too. Yahaba thought he must have gotten a shoulder injury recently. "We won't know until Iwaizumi goes on trial."

 _The divisions in the team._ The ball felt heavy in Yahaba's hands. _Stop fighting... Guys, stop fighting._

They would always wait until the coaches were gone to argue. Currently, Mizoguchi and Irihata were at a staff meeting, discussing the future steps of Aobajosai.

"Shut the fuck up, all of you."

Everyone turned to Kyoutani, whose head was bowed. When he gazed up, Yahaba did not see his usual ferocity in his eyes.

Yahaba swallowed a lump in his throat. "Kentarou—"

"No," Hanamaki snarled. "I'm sick of everyone turning a blind eye to the truth. Why don't we lay out the facts?! Oikawa," his voice broke, "is _dead_. He's fucking _dead_ , and Iwaizumi killed him. So why are you all trying to defend him?! You don't care about what happened to Oikawa?!"

Matsukawa placed a hand on his shoulder. "Makki, wait..."

"Of course we care!" Yuda screamed. "Don't ever accuse us of not caring!"

Hanamaki sneered. "Then why are you all so eager to defend him?!"

"You're just looking for someone to blame!" claimed Kunimi, staring pointedly at Hanamaki.

"I SAID SHUT THE _FUCK_ UP!" bellowed Kyoutani, kicking a stray ball against the wall. It flew through the air and ricocheted off the building to the other side of the gym. "Who did this and who did that... Who gives a fuck?! Stop arguing because it's fucking useless!"

At once, Hanamaki rounded on him. "I thought you'd be all about arguing, _Kyoutani_ , since that's all you're good for!"

"What was that?!"

"Guys," Kindaichi whispered, shaking. "Guys, please don't."

Nobody except Yahaba heard Kindaichi's quiet plea.

"Do you somehow think you're above all this?" continued Hanamaki, stalking up to Kyoutani. "Do you think you're fucking cool or something?!"

"Nobody ever said that!" cried Yahaba, moving to stand in front of Kyoutani. "Senpai, please! I-I know you're upset, but—" He didn't get to finish before Kyoutani pushed him aside roughly, not even giving him a second glance.

"You tryin' to fight?" Kyoutani growled.

Yahaba blinked just as someone threw the first punch—he didn't see who, it went too fast. But then Kyoutani and Hanamaki were wrestling, trying to shove each other to the ground. Immediately, Matsukawa grabbed Hanamaki and pulled him back, but Hanamaki wrenched himself out of his grip and launched himself at Kyoutani, shouting something unintelligible.

"You bastard!" Kyoutani howled after Hanamaki socked him in the face, swiftly returning the punch.

He couldn't stand it any longer. "STOP!" Yahaba tackled Kyoutani to the ground just as Yuda and Matsukawa got a grip on Hanamaki. Yahaba almost choked on his saliva when Kyoutani jabbed his elbow into his stomach, but didn't let go. "KENTAROU, STOP!" Kyoutani continued to thrash against him, and Yahaba felt the first tears sliding down his cheeks. "PLEASE STOP!"

"YAHABA, LET _GO_!"

"NO! NO, I WON'T!"

"What is going on here?!" Irihata's voice rang out.

_The coaches are here._

Irihata went over to help Matsukawa and Yuda calm Hanamaki down, while Mizoguchi knelt next to where Yahaba was curled on the floor, holding Kyoutani against him as if he feared a great wind would blow him away.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. Yahaba just sat on the court, dumbly, as the coaches did their best to deescalate the situation. At some point, Hanamaki had started uncontrollably sobbing, and he wasn't the only one. Yuda, too, was hiding his face, standing far away from his former friends, Sawauchi and Shido. Kyoutani had put himself at a distance, too, speaking with Mizoguchi in low— but agitated—murmurs.

"It's over."

Yahaba's head snapped up to see Kunimi standing over him. "What do you mean?"

Kunimi jabbed his thumb toward where Hanamaki and Matsukawa were exiting the gym. "They're quitting. For good."

His gut clenched and the earth fell from under him. "W-what?" Hastily, he got to his feet. "You can't be serious. I... What about nationals?"

"What _about_ nationals?" Kunimi retorted. "It was over the moment Oikawa died."

 _How can you say such a thing?_ Just as he thought he was done crying for the day, fresh tears welled up in his eyes, and he reached up to wipe them away. "You've always been kinda cold, but this is a new low. That was cruel, Kunimi."

Kunimi turned away. "Sorry."

"They're leaving?" Yahaba heard Kyoutani grind out. "Good for them."

Yahaba remembered. Remembered that Kyoutani had been absent from practices and tournaments for most of this year (and the year before) because of their previous third years. A part of him had suspected that Kyoutani would leave once more, but it seemed he was wrong. _At least there's one good thing in all of this._

By the time afternoon practice rolled around, their team had shrunk considerably. Not only had they lost Oikawa, but they'd lost Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa, too. All of them key members of most—if not all—of their offensive and defensive formations. Irihata sighed as he held court over them. "I never thought I'd be saying this, but are you sure you boys want to practice today? It'd be better if you take some time off."

"I agree," Mizoguchi affirmed, crossing his arms. "I don't think we should keep going right now, even if nationals are just around the corner."

"It's the only thing we have right now," Kunimi said bluntly. "I don't know about the others, but... I just want things to be back to normal as soon as possible."

There was a halfhearted murmur of agreement.

Another sigh from Irihata. "Alright, then. We only have one thing on the agenda, however." His brow lowered. "We need... to choose new captains."

Oh.

_Oh._

Yahaba swallowed thickly. It was unlikely that any of the remaining third years would be chosen for captaincy, which meant...

"Yahaba."

He could feel everyone's eyes boring into him. Yahaba glanced up at the coach. "Yes, coach?"

"If you're ready, I'd like you to lead the team."

 _I'm not. I'm not ready._ "I'm ready." _Is everyone else ready?_

"Well, that's good, then. I'll let you choose your own vice-captain—tell me who you pick before you leave."

"Yes, coach."

They practiced. Nobody was particularly into it, and barely anyone talked. The only one who did was Watari, who was obviously trying his best to keep the team morale up. It was a vain effort, Yahaba thought. He could not recall Watari ever putting his own two-cents into the 'who did it' debate for whatever reason. _What is he trying to do?_

"Don't mind!" Watari called when Kindaichi hit a serve into the net, the first year practically wilting at his failure.

 _It's like... He's trying to pretend nothing bad happened._ Yahaba wiped sweat off his brow before picking up the ball, which had come rolling toward him under the net. His heart ached. _Watari..._

Before they knew it, the sun had set, and it was dark outside. Slowly, they packed up the nets and returned the balls to the baskets. Like they had practiced, they worked without a word.

When they were almost done, Yahaba approached Watari from behind. "Ah, Watari..." _Will you be my vice-captain?_ It hadn't been a difficult choice at all—Watari was calm, supportive, and friendly. Quite the opposite of Kyoutani, actually.

"Oh, sorry," Watari said without turning around, and Yahaba thought that his shoulders were trembling. "Can... Can you give me a moment? I left something at the club room."

"Oh, um, okay." _Left something at the club room?_ Yahaba narrowed his eyes after Watari's retreating figure. _What's really going on?_ Making his mind up, he followed Watari, a silent ghost in the night. He could not deny it—out of all of their reactions, Watari's was the strangest. And Yahaba couldn't figure out _why_.

Watari had left the door to the club room slightly ajar. Not wanting to be seen, Yahaba peeked inside carefully. Under the dim light, Watari was buttoning up his school uniform, his jersey and elbow pads laid out on the bench in front of him. His lips pursed, Watari slipped on his sweater vest and then picked up his jersey, ignoring how his elbow pads fell onto the floor.

"Urgh...!" Watari's face crumbled, and he pressed it into his jersey, his knees hitting the ground. Yahaba could only watch in stunned silence as he intruded on his friend's private moment, as Watari broke down and blubbered loudly into his shirt as if he had been holding it in all day. Watari, who always kept up a smile no matter what, because he knew his teammates relied on him.

Feeling sick to the stomach, Yahaba went away.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Watari had been holding onto his own terrible burden. If Yahaba asked him to be vice-captain...

_There's no way..._

The cold bit into his skin as he walked back to the gym.

_That I can ask him to do such a thing for me._

_So, now what?_

Yahaba stopped for a moment, peering up at the night sky. The stars were out tonight.

Maybe Oikawa would've known.

* * *

 **November** — **December, 2012**

The days following were not easy. Yahaba hadn't expected them to be, but he hadn't expected them to be this hard either. Every little thing set off Kyoutani, and Sawauchi and Shido eventually stopped coming to practice.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" Yahaba had said, flabbergasted.

Sawauchi and Shido exchanged a guilty look.

"I'm sorry," Shido apologized. "But... We don't want to be here anymore. This just isn't... our team."

"But you're my vice-captain!"

"Again, I'm sorry." They made toward the exit. "Good luck, you guys."

Yahaba stared after them in dismay before whirling around to the rest of his team. Kindaichi wasn't meeting his gaze, and Kunimi was sitting on the bench, typing something on his phone. Kyoutani was serving against the wall by himself, and Watari just seemed plain lost. Quickly, he did a head count. _One, two, three, four..._ Including him, there were six members left. Just enough to compete in tournaments.

Even his goddamn middle school had had more than six people on the boy's team.

The team Yahaba was captaining couldn't even be called one.

"Cowards," Yuda suddenly piped up, glaring daggers at the door. Yahaba had never seen such an ugly expression on Yuda's kind visage before. "You don't know it, Yahaba, but the reason they don't want to be here is because we all think that Iwaizumi's innocent."

Yahaba vaguely remembered Sawauchi and Shido being on Hanamaki's side. "Right," he exhaled sharply. "Of-fucking-course." _This team is a laughing stock._ Frustration burned his insides, and he went to the staff room at lunch time to find Irihata.

"Coach." Yahaba stood at his desk, hands folded behind his back. "I would like to withdraw Seijoh from the Spring Tournament."

Irihata didn't look surprised. "I see," he answered, neutral. "I won't lie—this isn't unexpected. But are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure," Yahaba told him firmly. "Let Shiratorizawa compete again. I don't care anymore." _Our dream of nationals died with Oikawa._

"Very well."

Yahaba slid the door shut before he left, startling when he found himself face-to-face with Tsuji, who was sipping a juice box. She appeared equally surprised to see him, but found her voice first. "Shigeru-kun."

"Runa."

Together, they strolled languidly down the hall, not really speaking. Yahaba was too exhausted to do so, and Tsuji didn't know what she _could_ say.

"Kyoutani-kun's ignoring all my calls," Tsuji revealed at one point, staring forward with clouded eyes. "And my texts, too."

"Yeah. Same with mine. Actually, I stopped trying to call him a long time ago. We don't really talk anymore, even at practice."

"Oh. That's too bad."

"Mm."

They parted ways before fifth period started. Yahaba zoned out through math and English, only starting to pay attention to the world again when he went down to the gym in his sports uniform. The first thing that greeted him was Kyoutani's angry face.

"You!" Rage burned in his tone. "What the fuck, Yahaba?!"

"What the hell?" Yahaba scowled. "What're you so mad about this time? You barely talk to me, and now you—"

"Shut up and listen," Kyoutani snapped, grabbing Yahaba by the shirt collar. "Why the hell did you give up our spot at nationals?!"

"Don't touch me!" Yahaba shoved him away, baring his teeth. "And so what if I did?! What—did you _actually_ think we could even get past the first round with this team?! This isn't a _team_ , Kentarou, and it hasn't been for a long time!"

"Do I look like I give a shit?!" Kyoutani roared. "We worked too damn hard for this! And now you're just giving it away?! Don't you remember our dream?!"

"That wasn't our dream! It was _Oikawa's_! Just like this team! _Everything_ was Oikawa's, not mine!"

Yahaba didn't see the blow coming. Kyoutani's fist sent him flying to the ground, and he heard Kindaichi gasp in horror. "Get over yourself!" Kyoutani demanded. "You're... You're so fucking egotistical!"

"That's real fucking funny, coming from you! I'm not the one who knocks over teammates just to spike the ball outside the damn court!"

"Guys, that's enough!" Watari rushed over. "No more fighting. Please. Haven't we fought enough?"

Kyoutani curled his lip. "You expect me not to fight when my captain's a damn coward? Well, _fine_." Kyoutani looked around. "Since we're not going to nationals... I don't see the point of being here anymore. You win, _Yahaba_."

 _Wait, what? Kentarou..._ "You're leaving?" Yahaba stared. "Just like that?" _Kentarou never lets anyone win._ It was _unnatural_.

"Duh. Don't make me repeat myself." Kyoutani picked up his bag and left without any farewell.

 _Five people,_ Yahaba thought numbly as Watari helped him up. _Huh._ "Ha... Hahahaha! Fuck, I hate this... I HATE THIS SO DAMN MUCH! _FUCK_!" _I can't do this anymore... I can't do this anymore!_ "Hah... Sorry, everyone." Yahaba grinned, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye. "But Ken— _Kyoutani_ was right.

_"Your captain's a coward."_

He resigned the next day.

* * *

**December 12th, 2013**

To his surprise, Aobajosai's volleyball team hadn't collapsed. When the new school year had begun, the team saw some more members coming their way—enough to compete in tournaments. Yahaba was happy for them, he supposed. Occasionally, he checked on them, but it wasn't often enough. After his falling out with Kyoutani, he had tried calling him one last time, but Kyoutani hadn't picked up.

So Yahaba moved on.

He wasn't the only one that Kyoutani had cut off, anyway—Tsuji had received similar treatment from the blond.

Even when they passed by each other in the hallways, they acted like strangers.

"The mock exam was so hard!" Tsuji bemoaned as they filed out of class and into the hallway together. "How was it for you, Shigeru-kun?"

"Math isn't my strong point either," Yahaba told her with a sheepish smile. "What was that last question even?"

"Right? Ugh, I'm so totally gonna fail the entrance exams..."

Something bumped into Yahaba's shoulder, and he looked down to see a black-haired girl. "Oh, sorry."

Makoshima Naoko raised a brow at him. "It's fine."

Then she was gone.

"Creepy," Tsuji remarked. "Not a lot people survive an encounter with Makoshima."

"Eh?" Yahaba blinked. "Is she some kind of monster?"

"Remember those delinquents that used to bother us in our first year? They hung out behind the school building, by the incinerator."

"Oh, yep. What about 'em?"

"By the second half of our second year, all of them were either complete reformed or had dropped out of school. And it was because of _her_."

Yahaba let out a low whistle. "Damn."

"Mm... But never mind her!" Tsuji took him by the hand. "Let's go get taiyaki!"

Their school days were coming to a close.

* * *

**March 18th, 2014**

Graduation was... nice. There wasn't really any other way for Yahaba to put it. He graduated as one of the top students in his year, alongside Tsuji (but not Kyoutani). It was a bit of a forgettable affair, if he were being honest.

"Well, we did it," Tsuji said once they were outside, carrying their diplomas with them. She gave him a strange look. "Shigeru-kun... You look different today."

"Hmm?" Yahaba cast her a charming grin. "Oh, I do~?"

"... Like him..."

"Huh?"

"You look like Oikawa!" Tsuji exclaimed, frowning. "Why? Why, Shigeru-kun?"

 _Because Oikawa's always been better than who I really am. Nobody liked Yahaba Shigeru. Everybody liked Oikawa Tooru._ "Runa, you don't understand—"

"Damn right, I don't!" Tsuji smacked him in the shoulder with her diploma tube. "Shigeru-kun, you don't _need_ to be Oikawa. You just need to be Yahaba Shigeru. Oikawa wasn't the boy I liked... The boy I like is you, Shigeru-kun!"

 _Runa... likes me?_ It was like a dream. The same princess figure that all of Akiyama had worshiped had confessed to him—not Oikawa Tooru, but plain old Yahaba Shigeru. But when he looked at her... His heart didn't race. His cheeks didn't flush, and his words didn't stutter. "Sorry," the words felt wooden on his lips. "But... I can't accept your feelings."

Tsuji smiled sadly. "I-I see. D-don't worry, Shigeru-kun. To be honest, I kind of expected that. But! Stop trying to be someone else. Because Yahaba Shigeru... is an amazing, interesting person who I really care about."

Yahaba swallowed. "Thank you."

_Yahaba Shigeru. Yahaba Shigeru._

_That's who I am._

_... Right?_

* * *

**January 2nd, 2015**

It was astounding, really, how quickly friendships could end. How quickly people drifted apart from one another. Yahaba exhaled as he shuffled down the street in his winter coat, a white cloud forming in the frosty air from his warm breath before dissipating. His first year in university was coming to a close, and he was debating with himself if it was worth moving down to Tokyo so he wouldn't have to commute every day.

Tsuji had gone to Tohoku.

It was only natural that she had made her own friends there.

Sometimes, they still talked, but it was very rare.

Eventually, Yahaba expected, they would stop communicating altogether.

_That's fine._

_Yahaba Shigeru isn't the kind of person who can keep friendships, anyway._

His phone rang. It was a number he hadn't laid eyes on in ages—Kindaichi's.

He picked up. "Hello? Kindaichi? That you?"

 _"Yahaba! Thank god your number's still the same... I know it's been a while, but... Kunimi and I got into Todai."_ Yahaba's eyes widened. _"And we were wondering... Do you wanna maybe rent out a dorm together? The school will assign us a fourth person, but that doesn't matter. It's pretty cost effective, too."_

Yahaba grinned. "I'm listening."

* * *

**April 1st, 2018**

His hands trembling, Kindaichi read the note aloud.

_"I will hide_

_"I will run_

_"I am the one_

_"Who killed_

_"Oikawa-san_

_"Don't look at me with horror_

_"I see it in your gaze_

_"They are like knives_

_"That rip my soul apart_

_"Please_

_"Please_

_"Don't let me drown_

_"Sanzu River that reflects in your eyes_

_"Like afternoon sun."_

Kindaichi let out a shuddering breath. "This was written by Oikawa's killer. And his handwriting is _nothing_ like Iwaizumi's."

Yahaba stared blankly at the note.

_Oikawa Tooru._

_Oikawa Tooru._

_Oikawa Tooru is dead._

_Oikawa Tooru._

_Oikawa Tooru_ —

 _I'm here,_ Yahaba returned the call as his mind fractured once and for all, no more Tsuji or Kyoutani here to repair the cracks. _I'm here._

_I'm here now._

_Everything's okay._

* * *

**May 5th, 2018**

Birds burst forth from the trees, nothing but flurried shadows under the black sky.

"So why the _hell_ ," Yahaba snarled at Kunimi, who was clutching his arm, "Are you getting in my way?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost 6k words written in one day. Huh. I think I set myself a new record, HAHAHA
> 
> Also, I give myself feelings keeping in mind what Kageyama is also going through right now. The ways their lives all kind of intersect and happen at the same time really gives me the shivers and I don't normally get so affected by my own writing lol.
> 
> Like, just think about it...
> 
> Everyone's going through their own issues at the same time and they don't know it. Like... LIFE! WHOA!
> 
> Y'all can thank the_blue_dandelion for this early update lmao
> 
> ALSO PLEASE VOTE ON THIS POLL FOR A FIC I'M WORKING ON, IT LITERALLY TAKES 2 SECONDS JUST CHOOSE UR FAV HQ BOY:
> 
> https://www.strawpoll.me/20313478


	18. Fog of Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oishi speaks with Tsukishima about Chen, and Kunimi confronts Yahaba during his date with Yachi.

**May 5th, 2018**

"Uh huh," Tsukishima droned into his phone, which he had squeezed between his ear and his shoulder. "Yep. Got it. Right." His hands were busy unwrapping a box full of snacks that Kuroeda Yumika had gifted him for some strange reason. He had planned to throw it out, but doing so would have resulted in terrible waste. Tsukishima let his phone drop to his plush bed before hanging up. "Sheesh..." _A company party tonight?_ The second section of their spring collection had boomed in terms of viewership and magazine and clothing sales, but still... All Tsukishima wanted right now was a night to himself. Maybe soaking in a hot tub with a cold glass of kahlua with milk.

His phone dinged as he pulled out a packet of honey butter chips, making him glance at the device. It was a notification—he had received a text from Yamaguchi. It was also the thing that made him smile a little for the first time tonight, but that was quickly ruined when another notification pinged. This time, it was a message from Oishi.

Oishi rarely texted, meaning that it must have been something at least of semi-importance, so Tsukishima saved answering Yamaguchi's text for later.

**[Oishi]:** What are you wearing tonight?

**[Oishi]:** We need to match, and it has to be something from this season, or people will talk shit.

**[Tsukishima]:** I am aware. People suck.

**[Oishi]:** lol

**[Oishi]:** Send me a picture.

_Oishi Ryoka has sent an attachment._

**[Oishi]:** Here's my dress.

Tsukishima recognized the outfit—she had worn it in an exclusive photo shoot with Haiba Alisa the other day. Although he couldn't see the back of the dress, he knew that it had a deep plunge that showed off her shoulder blades. She would be the belle of the ball tonight.

**[Tsukishima]:** Gimme a moment.

**[Tsukishima]:** I'm not dressed yet.

**[Oishi]:** The party's in two hours. WTF are you doing?

**[Tsukishima]:** Well, I WAS unwinding before you texted.

**[Tsukishima]:** Kuroeda has good taste. Too bad it doesn't extend to men.

**[Oishi]:** What did she get you? An assortment of butt plugs and anal beads?

**[Tsukishima]:** Fuck no

**[Tsukishima]:** Why are u like this

**[Oishi]:** lmao

**[Oishi]:** Anyway, send it soon or I'll have your head.

**[Tsukishima]:** 💩

Tsukishima flopped onto his bed. Beneath his tired body, it felt like a cloud. Groaning into his pillow, he took off his glasses (they kept pressing into his face) and put them on the nightstand. Then he opened Yamaguchi's message, smiling a little sadly.

**[Yamaguchi]:** Tsukki, wanna go grab dinner tonight?

_When was the last time I saw Yamaguchi, anyway?_

It had been a while, certainly. Both of them were busy with their own lives, after all. Although Yamaguchi worked nine-to-five office job, Tsukishima's schedule was not so rigid. It was difficult meeting up regularly when there was nothing regular about Tsukishima's career.

**[Tsukishima]:** I can't tonight.

**[Tsukishima]:** What about tomorrow night?

Yamaguchi didn't answer right away. There was zero indication on the app that Yamaguchi had seen his message yet, either, so Tsukishima decided to leave it for now. He had a party to dress up for, and he was going to _hate_ it there.

* * *

Yachi Hitoka fidgeted with her ribbon on her dress as she glanced around her surroundings. It felt a little awkward to be standing all by herself in the middle of the quadrangle lawn, and she couldn't help but feel like all eyes were on her.

_This is a little fancier than what I'm used to wearing,_ she thought, flicking the end of the ribbon with one finger. Yachi smiled. _Oh well._ The restaurant Yahaba had invited her to was a fine dining one, so she supposed that it was only appropriate for her dress up for it.

"Hitoka-chan!"

Her heart skipped a beat when she heard Yahaba's voice call out her name, lifting her arm to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Yachi beamed at Yahaba, who was jogging up to her. "Yahaba-kun, there you are."

"Sorry," Yahaba slowed to a stop in front of her, chuckling sheepishly, "I didn't make you wait long, did I?"

"No, no! I just got here, to be honest."

Yachi Hitoka had not been on many dates in her life. During high school, most—if not all—of her friends had courted at least once, but she remained the exception. She had only started seeing boys after graduation, when she had a little more confidence in herself. In her first year, she had dated a popular upperclassman known as Oujiyama Hideo, but they'd broke it off after a few months.

The second boy she had dated was Yamaguchi, both of them agreeing to part ways after realizing they were better off as friends.

Oddly enough, both of them had gone to Karasuno High.

_Yahaba, though..._

Yachi smiled shyly as they walked together, their arms brushing; her canvas bag made for a flimsy barrier.

It was a cool summer evening, and they spent the walk to the restaurant talking idly. On the way there, Yachi discovered that Yahaba had an interest in Peking Opera of all things. She didn't know much about the subject, but she did share her passion for origami and other crafts in return.

"Oh!" Yahaba remembered. "Did you do any sports in high school, Hitoka-chan?"

"Sports?" Yachi echoed. "Well, er, not really. I was the manager for the boy's volleyball club, though. What about you, Yahaba-kun?"

"Volleyball? Huh..." He smiled again, but Yachi couldn't really decipher the meaning behind it. "I used to play setter for... Seijoh. Ah, I mean Aobajosai. We just call it that because—"

"Eh?! Seijoh?! I-I went to Karasuno...!" Yachi began to blabber, holding out her hands. _Come to think of it, Yahaba-kun does look somewhat familiar..._

"Ohhh, for real? Small world, huh? Maybe we've met before, a long time ago..."

The idea of meeting in the past was certainly romantic, even though her high school days had an ugly blemish on them. She had been recruited to manage the boy's volleyball team, she remembered, by Shimizu Kiyoko, who remained a good friend of hers to this day. It'd been fun, although she knew there had been some unspoken issues within the team—specifically among the first year boys. Yachi had never pried—hadn't found it her place to do so.

Then Oikawa had died, and Kageyama had run away and gotten into trouble with the law.

She hadn't seen him since.

_A lost cause_ , her mother had reckoned, shaking her head.

_Oikawa..._ Warily, Yachi side-eyed Yahaba. _They would've been on the team at the same time..._ It had been hard for Karasuno to accept the death of one of Miyagi Prefecture's most brilliant setters—she could not even begin to imagine what it would have been like had it been someone on her team that had died. To be in the epicenter of the earthquake that had struck the volleyball world.

"Hey," Yahaba said, the restaurant coming into view. "Hitoka-chan."

"Mm?"

"You don't have to call me 'Yahaba-kun', you know."

"Oh! Ah, um... You never told me your first name. Sorry!"

"Nah, it's fine," Yahaba placed his hand around her shoulders as he led her inside, "Just call me... _Tooru_."

* * *

The first face that Kunimi saw when he had entered Aobajosai's gym for the first time with Kindaichi was Yahaba's. The opening of the door had garnered the setter's attention, and Yahaba had grinned at him, waving over Kyoutani so they could greet each other together.

It seemed odd to Kunimi, that he was now sitting in the same restaurant as Yachi and Yahaba at a faraway table. He pretended to be fixated with his phone, his baseball cap tilted slightly downward so that his eyes—focused on where Yachi and Yahaba were sitting—remained hidden.

_Nothing's happened so far,_ he thought as the waiter approached his table from the side to give him a fizzy soda. He would maybe ordered some alcohol, but he needed to stay alert. Kunimi narrowed his eyes when Yahaba reached over the table to brush a strand of hair away from Yachi's eyes, a smile on his face that had an uncomfortable amount of déjà vu creeping up on him.

He couldn't hear what they were saying from where he was seated; he had a clear view of Yahaba's face, but could only see the back of Yachi's blonde head as well. As he drank, he wondered what was going through Yachi's mind at this very moment. From the way she was lifting her hand over her mouth to chuckle at whatever Yahaba was saying, she was certainly having a good time.

Kunimi bit down on the straw of his drink, brow furrowing.

_"Honestly, your brother is so immature sometimes, Akira."_

_"I know."_

_A hand gentle ruffling his hair._

_"I'm thankful for you. Don't tell your big brother, but you've always been the most reliable son."_

_He grumbled when she pinched his cheek affectionately._

"Tch." Kunimi yanked the straw out of his mouth. "Reliable son..." _If I'm so damn reliable, then I wouldn't have gotten her dragged into all this bullshit. Ugh._

Yachi said something then that made Yahaba tilt his head back and laugh. Kunimi could not recall the last time he had seen Yahaba exude such a blatantly positive emotion—perhaps it was heartless of him to think so, but his most vivid memories of Yahaba's facial expressions tended to be on the negative side.

_"STOP! KENTAROU, STOP! PLEASE STOP!"_

_"YAHABA, LET GO!"_

_"NO! NO, I WON'T!"_

_"What is going on here?!"_

_"It's over."_

When Kunimi's food arrived, he found that he had no appetite.

* * *

"Ugh, I need a smoke."

"It hasn't even been an _hour_ yet."

Oishi Ryoka turned her head to glare with pursed lips at Tsukishima, who was unfazed. "For real? It feels like it's been forever. Look around—everybody's already drunk off their faces. Oh, great—here comes that airhead, Alisa."

Tsukishima gave her a quizzical look. "I thought you liked Alisa."

"I do. I just don't think I can deal with her right now—she's so clueless sometimes."

He could understand. Haiba Alisa was a nice girl—and a very beautiful one, too—but she had difficulty reading the room at times. There was a huge grin on her face as she approached them, a martini glass in one hand.

"Ryoka-chan!" cheered Alisa, putting one hand on Oishi's pale shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed—she was clearly tipsy. "How was the funeral~?"

"Excuse me?" Oishi raised a brow.

At the same time, Tsukishima parroted, "Funeral?"

"Alisa!"

"Ah!" Alisa almost spilled her drink. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry! I'm totally running my mouth again, I didn't mean to, I'm..." Woozily, she swayed. "Ah... Maybe I'll sit down for a little."

"That'd be a good idea," Oishi said, frosty. Had it been anyone else, Tsukishima was sure she would have thrown her drink at them. But, despite her eccentricities, Alisa truly was a diamond in the rough—an authentic artifact in a world of replicas.

Tsukishima let Oishi down her drink and snap her fingers for a waiter to give her a new one before prompting, "So what was this about a funeral?"

"It's nothing," Oishi sighed heavily. "Just that Miya's funeral wake was earlier today." She turned away from him, staring out the window with a frown on her face. "It was fucking awful."

Slowly, he nodded. "Was it the crying that bothered you?"

"No. The thing that bothered me most was that nobody cried. I didn't either, but... It shouldn't be expected of me. We were just coworkers. Sure, sometimes we took photos together and uploaded on Picstagram for clout, but our relationship was... strictly professional. Tch!" Oishi whipped around, back to where Tsukishima was standing. "His mom and Director Shō... They were basically his only family and I didn't see a _single_ fucking tear from either of them." Her gaze dropped, her white bangs shadowing her face. "He had a man he loved. I didn't see him there. They didn't let him come, I bet. So, yeah. It was a shitty wake."

"I'm not surprised." The words sounded callous, even to him. "No... It's not surprising at all."

"Did I say I was surprised? No. Bothered? Yeah, a lot." Her hand hovered over the nigh invisible pocket of her dress. "It makes me want to call Tetsurou and say I'm sorry for making him feel like I left him behind for my job. Because I know he cares for me a lot more than any of these _statues_ ," she gave the room a once-over, "ever would. Minus Alisa, of course." Oishi sipped her drink. "She's a sweetheart."

The quiver in her voice had Tsukishima shifting his weight to his right foot in mild discomfort. It reminded him of the man who awaited his next message, any sort of confirmation for their dinner date. He exhaled. "Right. You do that."

She slid her hand in her pocket, eyes widening in alarm when she realized it wasn't there. "What the—?! It's not in here!"

"Are you serious?" Tsukishima reprimanded. "How could you lose it?"

"Hell if I know! Hey, Chen!" Oishi waved her manager, who had been woodenly chatting up a group of girls, over. "Chen, do you know where my phone is?"

As far as Tsukishima knew, Chen Jianhong had migrated to Japan from China when he was in his late teens. He had been integrated into the entertainment industry by Director Shō, and served currently as Oishi's manager and bodyguard. Tsukishima stepped back warily as Chen practically shoved himself between them, pointedly ignoring the blond model.

With one slender hand, Oishi pushed her hair back over her shoulders. "Good, you're still here. I was beginning to wonder if you were cheating on me with all your disappearing."

"You're not dating," Tsukishima interjected blandly.

"I know. But he's _my_ manager. Isn't that right, Chen? So where have you been going, hm? You don't have money problems, do you?"

Chen scoffed, looking anywhere except Oishi's busty chest, the curve of her breasts accentuated by the way her dress clung to her. At least he was respectful, if anything. Or maybe he was trying his best not to be a horndog—Tsukishima couldn't really tell; his expressions were, most of the time, some variation of 'angry' or 'annoyed'. "Don't be concerned about me. Money's fine, Oishi. I found your phone by the drinks table, by the way." He fished it out of the pocket of his slacks. "Here."

"Aww," Oishi cooed, taking it, "You're a sweetheart, Chen."

"Mm." Chen glanced at his watch. "Have a nice night, Oishi. I got somewhere to be." Without waiting for a response, he strode away brusquely, leaving Oishi to squint after him.

"Huh? The hell...? Did I just get blown off?! By my own damn manager?!"

"Oi." Tsukishima steadied her. "Calm down, you're drunk. Go sit next to Alisa. I've already lost count of how many standard drinks you've had..." Palming her shoulders, he guided her toward the booth which Alisa had occupied. She waved when she saw them coming, scooting aside to allow Tsukishima to help Oishi sit down.

"Thanks," grunted Oishi, leaning against the back cushion.

"Whatever. I just didn't want you throwing a hissy fit standing up."

She flipped him the bird. "Shut up, man. Just accept my thanks like a normal human being. And I wouldn't have thrown a _hissy_ fit."

Tsukishima's eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"

"Yeah." In a fashion that was decidedly very unladylike, Oishi crossed one leg over the other, the hem of her dress stretching. Hurriedly, Tsukishima pushed her leg back down, ignoring the sour puckering of her lips. Hopefully, everyone else had been too drunk to notice the flash of her panties—the people here were vicious when it came to criticism and gossip. "I'm just not his type, y'know?"

"Is that so?" He sat down at the booth, opposite Oishi. In his peripheral, he spotted Chen getting held up by a group of drunk women. "I thought you were everyone's type."

"Mmmhm. So did I. Look," Oishi pinched a lock of white hair between her fingers, holding it out toward him, "Look at this. Chen's not into white-haired chicks with fox faces like me. He likes girls like Kuroeda. Girls with black hair and cat faces. The only reason he hasn't made any moves on her is probably 'cause he knows she's a slut. Hahaha! She does everything short of actual sex with randoms. Chen likes _pure_ girls."

"Or maybe," Tsukishima suggested, tucking the jibe about Kuroeda away for later, "It's because he's a professional."

"Hah! Chen? A professional? Don't make me laugh." Oishi hiccuped before straightening, the filmy glaze of drunken incoherence in her eyes lifting ever so slightly. "That man... is a _viper_."

* * *

The stars were out tonight. It was a rare sight to see, especially in the city. Yachi had had a lot more luck counting stars back in Miyagi. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, lifting her arms up in a stretch as Yahaba stopped in front of the park's fountain.

"It's nice, huh?" Yahaba sat down at the edge of the fountain, patting the spot next to him for Yachi.

Delicately, she tucked her skirt beneath her thighs and seated herself beside him. "It is," she agreed, looking heavenward with a small smile on her lips. A nighttime breeze blew through the park, and her hair swayed with the wind. Yahaba opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke first, her eyes still fixed on the sky. "It's kinda nostalgic, actually."

"Really?" Yahaba palmed the sides of the fountain, leaning backward slightly. "What does it make you think of, Hitoka-chan?"

"Back then," answered Yachi, sighing quietly. "It reminds me of a long time ago. I mean," she blushed, "I know I sound like an old man right now, but I'm serious! I was lucky, you know. A lot of bad things happened in our town, but... I was lucky to only have to watch other people suffer. It sounds awful, but... It's true. At least to me. I was lucky. Sorry, I must be bringing the mood down..."

"Don't say that, Hitoka-chan," Yahaba admonished gently. "You're allowed to be sad. To be honest," he grimaced, "I watched the people around me suffer, too. Any sort of suffering is sad, don't you think?"

"I guess you're right."

They fell into silence.

Yachi listened to the gentle bubbling of the water fountain, tapping the heel of her boots against the cobblestone along with the rhythm. It was a peaceful night; she could hear crickets chirping beyond the bushes, and the area still smelled like dew from this morning's fox rains. There was absolutely no reason for her to be bothered at all, but...

Kunimi had been acting weird for a while now. Asking her to report to him about her dates and whatnot would have tired any other girl, but Yachi knew that Kunimi wasn't this kind of person. Something had to be wrong for him to behave in such a way, and—she peeked at Yahaba from beneath her lashes—she knew that things couldn't continue between them because of that.

"Tooru-kun," she started, but Yahaba talked over her.

"Hitoka-chan, I like you. Will you be my girlfriend?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "Oh..." Closing her eyes, Yachi mustered up her courage. "I'm sorry, Tooru-kun, but... I think we're moving too fast. And, um, there are things I need to sort out first before we—"

_"What?"_

The abrupt shift in his tone—normally so soft and lilting—made her stiffen. Just like that, she became very aware of the edge of his palm pressing firmly against her smaller hand. She swallowed the panic down and tried again. "I-It's not—"

Yahaba's eyes were wide in bewilderment. "You're _rejecting_ me?"

"N-no! Well, maybe I—"

"Did I do something wrong?"

Yachi bowed her head. "No! I think you're very nice, Tooru-kun, but..."

"I don't understand." Yahaba stood, frowning. "Then what's the problem?"

"I...!"

"Nobody's ever rejected me before."

_What?_ Yachi ogled at him, at the statement he had just made. Then she mirrored his frown, though her face was lined with worry. "This... This isn't fair to me!" She yelped when he grabbed her wrist roughly, pulling her closer to him.

"What the hell are you talking about, Sayori?!"

"What?!" cried Yachi. "Who's Sayori?!"

To her horror, Yahaba's face crumpled, and he held her hands tightly, hunching over. "Oh god," he breathed, pressing his forehead against her knuckles, "Oh god. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sayori. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to break up with you. Everything was supposed to be _okay_."

Birds burst forth from the trees, nothing but flurried shadows under the black sky.

"Tooru," Yachi attempted to pry herself from his vice grip, "Tooru, please let go of me. _Please_."

"Sayori—"

The leaves rustled.

" _Enough_."

Clutching Yahaba's arm, Kunimi wrenched him away from Yachi, who quickly scuttled back, massaging her sore wrists. Then he took off his baseball cap and threw it aside, staring balefully at Yahaba's stooped form.

"Kunimi?" Yahaba blinked. "What... What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he retorted. "I'm stopping you from doing something you're gonna regret."

Yahaba chortled, the sound watery. "What are you, my mom?"

"Don't!" Kunimi snapped. "Talk like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kunimicchi. Everything's okay." His features contorted into something ugly, something hateful. He yanked his arm from Kunimi's hold. "So why the _hell_ are you getting in my way?"

Warily, Kunimi held out his hands. "Senpai. This isn't like you. Think about what you're doing."

"I know damn well what I'm doing. Just ask Iwaizumi. He was my vice-captain."

Kunimi shook his head. "Iwaizumi is in prison. Your name is Yahaba Shigeru. _Not_ Oikawa Tooru." At his silence, he continued, "I was wondering for a while, you know. I couldn't know for sure, but... Here you are." Hands still raised, he took a tentative step forward. "Yahaba Shigeru. That's who you are."

Yahaba remained silent.

Trembling in the background, Yachi reached into her purse and pawed for her phone, only relaxing when she found it.

"No," Yahaba said, and Kunimi recoiled at the sheer honesty in his voice. "I'm not. Yahaba Shigeru... You think I'm _that_ guy?"

"You don't sound happy about it," Kunimi replied carefully.

"Of _course_ not. Yahaba Shigeru..." He barked a sharp laugh. "He's a loser! A nobody! Didn't you see the way he fell apart like a coward when his team needed him most?! He's _nothing_. But me," he palmed his chest, "I'm _different_. I'm not like _Yahaba_!"

_Dammit._ A bead of sweat trailed down Kunimi's temple as he regarded Yahaba. _He's completely lost any sense of self he may have had._ "Yahaba Shigeru isn't a loser," Kunimi told him. "He isn't a nobody. He isn't nothing. He's a senpai I respected—a senpai I still respect. He's my roommate, and my friend. He served as my captain in high school, even if it was only for a little while. But he was brave." Yahaba's face fell. "He became captain because he was the best we had. Because the rest of us weren't ready to lead. And nobody— _nobody_ —can call him a coward for that."

The wind blew through the clearing.

And Yahaba lowered his head, his bangs—styled in Oikawa's fashion—fell over his eyes. "Shut _up_ ," he murmured.

"Yahaba?"

"SHUT _UP_!" Yahaba lunged forward, Kunimi barely able to catch his breath before Yahaba had grabbed him by the front of his hoodie. "How can you say that shit to me?!" he bellowed. "Shut the _fuck_ up, you lying _bastard_!" He shoved Kunimi backward, the black-haired man almost falling over.

"Wait—"

Yahaba's fist clipped his face, and he felt pain explode somewhere around his mouth.

He heard Yachi shriek in alarm from somewhere behind him.

"Fuck." Kunimi stumbled back, feeling the wetness of blood on his chin and tasting its metallic quality with his tongue. He rubbed it away with the back of his hand and part of his sleeve, the substance almost invisible against the dark fabric of his hoodie. "Yahaba—" He dodged just in time for Yahaba to punch the air instead of his nose. Swearing, he tackled Yahaba from the side, knocking them both onto the ground. "Stay down!" he ordered, desperately trying to hold his writhing figure down.

"FUCK YOU!" Yahaba slammed his forehead between Kunimi's eyes. "Why won't you believe me?!"

"Because I _know_ you!" Kunimi shouted from where he was laying on the floor, biting down to fight the pain in his head off. "You're my friend, you damn idiot! You're _not_ Oikawa! _God_ , Yahaba," his voice broke, "You think I'm really saying this to fuck with you?!"

"Urgh...!" Tears welled up in Yahaba's eyes. "I told you to shut up!" His fist rocketed against Kunimi's cheek, and his head snapped to the side; he hissed when his temple smacked against the cobblestone. "Getting in my way...! Spouting all this bullshit...!"

"It's _not_ bullshit!" Kunimi punched him back, scrambling to his feet and panting heavily.

"Oh my god," Yachi's fingers were shaking as she typed in the emergency number on her phone, "I need to call the police...!" Frantically, she lifted the phone to her ear. "Pick up, pick up... Hello?!" she warbled. "T-they're going to kill each other! I-I need the police! We're at—"

At a standstill, the two men circled each other slowly.

"Please," Kunimi wheezed, wiping blood from his split lip, which had started to bleed again. "I just want to help you. You're my friend."

" _Nobody_ can help me!" Yahaba screamed. "Nobody helped me _when he killed me!_ "

A crow cawed in the night.

"I know," Kunimi said. "Nobody helped Oikawa. But you're different. You're _not_ Oikawa. I meant every word of what I said before. Yahaba Shigeru is _not_ a nobody," he stepped forward with his hands raised in halfhearted surrender, "Yahaba Shigeru is _not_ nothing—"

Yahaba wavered, his shoulders sagging.

"—and Yahaba Shigeru is _not_ a coward. Yahaba Shigeru is a senpai who I respect. Yahaba Shigeru is my roommate. Most of all, though, Yahaba Shigeru is my friend, and a great one at that. Yahaba Shigeru isn't Oikawa Tooru." Sirens wailed. "But that doesn't matter. Because Yahaba Shigeru is so much more than that."

The rock in his stomach turned into a ball of ice when Yahaba sank to his knees, staring blankly at the ground. "No," he said. "No, no, no... I am him...! I _am_ Oikawa! I have to be! I _have_ to be, Kunimi, I _have_ to be, oh my _god_!"

He stiffened when Yahaba tilted his head. "Wait, what are you—"

Yahaba smashed his head against the ground with all his might. "I _am_ Oikawa!" he screamed into the night, blood flying in an arc as he lifted his head and repeated the motion. _"I am!"_ Again. _"I am!"_ Again. _"I am!"_ Again. _"I am!"_

"STOP!" Kunimi yelled, darting forward. But then a dark shadow appeared in front of him, and he halted. Looking around, he found that police officers were swarming the area.

"It's over, son," the officer who had stopped him said, bringing him over to where Yachi was standing with another officer. "Your girlfriend here told us everything. We have an ambulance on standby for him."

Kunimi could only watch, helpless, as several officers restrained Yahaba from further harming himself. His face was caked with blood, and his hair was a _mess_. He looked so _small_ —so terribly small and afraid.

_"It's over."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"They're quitting. For good."_

_"W-what? You can't be serious. I... What about nationals?"_

_"What_ about _nationals? It was over the moment Oikawa died."_

_"You've always been kinda cold, but this is a new low. That was cruel, Kunimi."_

_"Sorry."_

_Yeah,_ Kunimi thought, exhaustion weighing his body down. _It's over._ Turning to the side, he saw Yachi staring at Yahaba in horror, red and blue occasionally flashing on her cheek from the nearby parked police cars. Without having to think, he did the only thing he _could_ do. Kunimi pulled Yachi close to him, and she buried her face in his chest, her small frame wracking as she sobbed, terrified. "Don't look. You don't need to look, Yachi-san."

_It's over._

His throat bobbed.

_It's over._

Yachi was crying.

_It's over._

Kindaichi had cried back then, too.

_No._

The killer still ran free.

_It's not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was incredibly hard for me to write and I don't find myself satisfied with the result. 
> 
> I was excited by this chapter, but I'll admit I got a little overwhelmed by some negativity, mostly because I feel like I'm not talented or good enough. Call it strange, but I took it really hard when I reminded myself that the only things that has ever won me awards is academics and tennis. Winning a writing award has always been a dream of mine, but it, alas, eludes me.
> 
> Regardless, though, I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> And, as I promised on Wattpad, here's the short piano soundtrack that I composed and played for Shard Society!
> 
> It's also available on my Instagram, @_yangri
> 
> [shard society ost 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3kwMvw5IKw&feature=youtu.be)
> 
> Sorry about the sound quality HAHAHA
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


	19. Killer's Effigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi catches the killer?

**May 5th, 2018**

_"He called me... Kiyoko."_

Frantically, Kindaichi scanned his train pass, the gates opening up for him. It was peak hour, and bodies were swarming throughout the whole station. Kindaichi craned his neck to check for the next train back to Tokyo. There was in ten minutes. _Shit...! I can't afford to wait!_

His nerves shot, he paced at the platform, checking the time on his watch every five or so seconds.

When Hanae had whispered those words, shame dripping from her tongue, everything had clicked.

In their whole investigation, there had always been one person in the background, manipulating things to go his way. The only person who would've had the power to delete Oikawa from the show when he ruined his chances with Hanae to cover up his crime, and someone who would've known Osamu back in 2008.

_Manager Chen Jianhong._

Even the name made him sick to the stomach.

Some things still didn't add up to him—like Miwa's disappearance, but that didn't matter. Chen would confess all that later, when he was finally caught and brought to justice once and for all.

 _But I have to get to Shimizu first,_ he fretted. _Before he gets her, too!_

"Hey, watch it."

Kindaichi had almost walked into a woman. "Sorry."

Makoshima Naoko frowned up at him, looking rather unimpressed. "Hm. Whatever." Her handbag slung over one shoulder, Kindaichi knew that he had met her somewhere before, if only for a moment.

The train would be arriving in three minutes.

Kindaichi tapped his foot against the concrete.

"You're antsy," Naoko deadpanned. "Stop that, it's annoying."

"Sorry," Kindaichi bit out. "But I'm kinda in a rush, lady."

"Aren't we all? It's not like you can speed things up by waiting faster, though. Calm down."

"Tch." _She's right..._ _Goddammit, when's the train gonna come?!_ Brows creased, he glanced up at the screen. _Two more minutes._ This was taking forever—it was as if time had slowed down just to taunt him.

More people emerged from several places at once just to stand on the platform with them, sweat decorating their temples and relieved smiles on their faces as they realized that they hadn't missed their train. Kindaichi inhaled deeply. Naoko was right—he needed to be calmer. His heart was still racing, but he stopped his pacing. He wouldn't have been able to walk very far with all these people here now anyway.

"So," said Kindaichi to Naoko. "Why are you going to Tokyo...?"

She gave him a wary look before replying, "I'm going to visit a friend."

"Ah. Same, actually." Well, it was close enough—he just needed to make sure that Shimizu was safe before making any moves against Chen. "Hey, don't take this the wrong way, but... Have we met before?"

"Hmm..." Naoko tilted her head, her side bangs swishing along with the motion. She had her front bangs parted to the right, he noticed. "Maybe. You went to Seijoh, didn't you?"

Kindaichi's eyes widened. "Yeah, I did! Were we in the same year? I was class of 2014."

"Class of 2013 for me." She smirked slightly. "Look's like I'm your senpai."

"Hah, yeah... It seems so." _Class of 2013? She was in Yahaba's year. Did they know each other?_ This also meant that she had attended Aobajosai when Oikawa had been murdered. It made Kindaichi want to scrutinize her a little longer, but she seemed to be quite normal. Nothing like the crazed, frothing person that Kindaichi imagined the killer to be. Imagined _Chen_ to be, underneath his gentlemanly facade. "Um... What club were you in?"

"The drama club." Her expression soured somewhat before lightening. "And you?"

"Volleyball."

Naoko, who was carrying a box of something, clutched it tighter. "I see."

The screen flickered. One more minute.

"I—"

"So he was your senpai, then?" she interrupted. "Tooru, that is." An awkward pause. "Oikawa."

"Yeah, he was," affirmed Kindaichi, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. "I think I remember you now. You were at his funeral. You're—"

"Makoshima Naoko. And you're... Sorry, I don't know your name."

The train pulled up, and everyone jostled their way inside. Luckily, Kindaichi and Naoko were able to find a seat together. "No worries," Kindaichi grunted as a fat man shoved him against Naoko trying to get into the chair. "It's Kindaichi Yuutarou, by the way. Were you one of Oikawa's girlfriends?" He winced, realizing how that must have sounded. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, no. It's fine. You're right," she confirmed, setting down the box on her lap. "I used to be his girlfriend." Naoko chuckled lowly. "But he loved someone else more."

"Oh." Kindaichi looked away, focusing instead on the closing doors that were barely visible through the standing bodies. "I'm sorry."

Naoko sighed exasperatedly, crossing her arms as the train began to move. "Stop apologizing already. It was for the best—Hajime suited him better than I did anyway."

Kindaichi whipped around to stare at her. "Wait, what? They were together?"

She arched a brow. "Not officially, no. But wasn't it obvious that they liked each other? Then again," Naoko mused, "It's not easy to confess your feelings when you're both males... But I would've thought the team had noticed."

"Well, we didn't."

"Hm. Now you know."

Somehow, talking to Naoko was doing wonders for Kindaichi's anxiety. The anticipation of possibly meeting Shimizu's stalker—who he was certain was also Oikawa's killer and Manager Chen—still swam at the forefront of his mind, but it no longer ate away at him as much. "To be honest," Kindaichi confessed. "Our team wasn't that close when it came to our personal lives. Not unless you were friends outside of volleyball. We were a team—but we weren't a family."

"I see."

They spent most of the ride in silence.

The next time Kindaichi looked out the window, the sun was almost set and he could see the city skyline in the distance, houses zooming past in his peripheral.

"Kindaichi-san," Naoko said quietly. He turned to her expectantly. "I hope you don't bear any ill will toward Hajime." She sounded pained, and Kindaichi could guess why—Aobajosai had been split back then, students constantly arguing about Iwaizumi's innocence or guilt.

"I know he didn't do it," Kindaichi told her.

"Were you close to him?"

"Ah... Not really. He was a senpai I respected, and we were on good terms, but... Nothing beyond that."

"Still," she murmured. "In all these six years... Have you ever visited him?"

Remorse lashed at him like a whip, shame burning through his bloodstream and its smoke settling within the delicate folds and creases of his lungs. He could not look her in the eye. "No. I haven't."

"I thought so." Naoko leaned back in her chair. "Coward."

The train slowed to a stop at the station.

"You're right," Kindaichi said hollowly, standing with her. "I _am_ a coward." She started to walk away from him, but he called after her on the platform, "I've _been_ a coward. But I swear to you," Naoko spun around with her world-weary eyes, "I'm going to be better than that now."

* * *

**November 25th, 2012**

Even through the multiple layers he had donned today, he could still feel the chill of the morning piercing his skin. His eyes were swollen and his nose was red. Kindaichi sniffled, pulling his hat over his ears. His headaches, which had been bothering him as of late, could not be felt today, and he hoped it would continue being that way.

Beside him, Kunimi stood slouched, waiting for the people in front of them to shuffle into the funeral hall.

Nearby, Kindaichi could hear a child crying.

"I'm gonna throw up," he muttered.

"Don't," Kunimi said. "You'll be fine. Just don't think about it."

 _Easy for you to say,_ he thought resentfully. Between them, Kunimi was the best at becoming detached to something. But he wasn't being fair—he was sure, that in his own way, Kunimi was quietly suffering.

"Oh, you guys here."

They glanced over their shoulders to see Yahaba jogging up to them. His brow was lowered, and his lips pressed in a grim line. A wintry breeze rushed past then, making one end of Yahaba's navy blue scarf whip upward. He pulled it back down against his chest.

"Hey," Kindaichi offered weakly.

"Hey," echoed Kunimi, sounding faraway.

Yahaba gathered them into a short, but tight hug. When they parted, it was their turn to step through the entrance into the hall. Their captain nudged them forward. Kindaichi noticed that he kept looking around—he was probably searching for Kyoutani. With his hair, Kindaichi was sure he would've at least glimpsed him.

 _So he didn't come,_ Kindaichi thought, feeling a pang in his heart.

They got seated. Some rows ahead were Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Kindaichi could only see the back of their heads—they weren't speaking to each other. The child was still bawling. At some point, Kindaichi craned his neck to try and check who it was. It appeared to be young Takeru—Oikawa's nephew. Kindaichi only recognized him because of the collection of photos on Oikawa's phone that he had showed off to all of them one time.

"Oh, shit, get up," Yahaba suddenly said, standing. "We didn't give his parents the funeral money." From a pocket inside his coat, he pulled out a silver packet of money. "Come on, you guys."

Numbly, Kindaichi followed suit.

Together, the three of them bowed to Oikawa's grieving mother. It was hard to watch her accept their condolence money—Kindaichi's knees almost buckled beneath his weight from the way the woman's lips turned down as she tried her best to hold back tears.

Her silent question was palpable—he could feel it even on their way back to their seats.

_Why him? All of you are still alive. All of you are around his age. So why him? Why do you all get to live when my son is dead?_

The Buddhist priest chanted as Oikawa's relatives offered incense to the incense urn near the altar.

For most of the ceremony, Kindaichi just stared blankly at his hands, fingertips white from the cold.

Toward the end, about half of the guests—including Yahaba, Kindaichi, and Kunimi—stood up to crowd around the casket, where Oikawa lay peacefully, free from the world and its burdens. He had been made up, obviously, and some waxy substance had been applied to his skin to stop decay from setting in too quickly. The wound in his throat that had killed him had been sewn up; Kindaichi couldn't barely see the stitches.

He stepped aside when Hanamaki came forward to lay flowers in the casket. They shared a weary look before Hanamaki backed off, disappearing into the crowd. There was no outburst today, from the one who had been most vocal about Oikawa's death. Somehow, Hanamaki's silence made Kindaichi feel like the rug had been pulled from underneath him all over again.

"Come on," Kindaichi felt Kunimi yank at his sleeve some time later, "Let's go. They're going to close the casket soon."

"Wait." Kindaichi stared helplessly into the casket, taking in every detail of Oikawa's tranquil expression. "Okay. I'm done."

He would never forget this, for as long as he lived.

The cold hit them with full force as soon as they stalked outside, Kunimi shivering and attempting to shirk his head into his fluffy parka.

Kindaichi bit down on his teeth. _"Useless..."_

Yahaba stopped, his boot crunching the light dusting of frost on the ground as he turned on his heel. "What?"

Kunimi grimaced. "Kindaichi—"

"I said," Kindaichi repeated loudly, "I'm useless."

At his declaration, a few departing funeral guests glanced at him.

"No, you're not," Yahaba immediately refuted. "You're one of our best hitters on the team—"

"Not that!" Kindaichi snapped, gritting his teeth. "Why... Why couldn't I have _helped_ him? Why couldn't _any_ of us have helped him?! Fuck! We're useless! We all are!"

"Kindaichi, that's not true and you know it!" retorted Yahaba, frowning. "None of us could've known."

"But why didn't we know?" Desperation seeped into his tone like poison. "Because we were too busy with our own lives to even hear him scream?" A headache struck him then, and he let out an agonized hiss, holding his head. "Dammit...! I hate this! I hate this so much! We... We should've done something!" His voice cracked. "Anything!"

Kunimi's gaze dropped. "I know how it feels. But... We can't rile up ourselves thinking about what-ifs. I'm sorry, Kindaichi, but... It's over."

"You're sure fond of that phrase, aren't you?" Kindaichi laughed cruelly. "Is that the only thing you can say?"

"It's the truth," Kunimi stated, hurt seeping through his tone. "Kindaichi..."

"No more fighting," Yahaba ordered. "Come on, you guys. We've... We've fought a lot already. No more fighting. _Please_."

Watari came out with his parents then. He exchanged a short greeting with them before following his mother and father to the car park.

Kindaichi hunched his shoulders. "Sorry, captain." _Yahaba's so strong... It's admirable._ "Sorry, Kunimi."

Kunimi waved it off. "It's fine."

"Excuse me." They turned their heads to see a man with a sallow face and black hair approaching them. "Is everything alright here?"

 _Huh? Who's he?_ Kindaichi cocked an eyebrow at the man's appearance.

"Everything's fine, sir," Yahaba answered politely.

"Ah, good. You three are Iwaizumi-san's friends, correct?"

"Yeah." There was no hiding the suspicion in Kunimi's tone. "Who are you?"

The man smiled tiredly, lifting a hand. "Relax, boys. My name is Sakusa Junji. I'm representing Iwaizumi-san in his trial next week."

The name meant nothing to him. Kindaichi was sure he would forget it by the time this evening rolled around. "Oh," he said woodenly. "Okay. And you're here because...?"

Junji shifted. "I suppose I just wanted to see how everyone was holding up. What happened... It's truly tragic." He sighed. "But you don't need to me to tell you that." The lawyer peered up at the funeral hall. "I've overstayed my welcome. My son, Kiyoomi, is waiting for me in the car as well. Good day."

"Good day," Yahaba parroted halfheartedly. When Junji was gone, he announced, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"Same." Kunimi followed him, leaving Kindaichi by himself.

As he stood, waiting for his friends to return, a black-haired girl—flanked by a blond boy and a shorter girl who could have passed as her carbon copy—exited the funeral hall, her face set in neutrality.

Makoshima Naoko walked with her head held high, even when her siblings slouched, crushed by the weight of grief.

Her younger sister, Sumire, sniffed. "This can't be right," Kindaichi heard her say. "No way... Tooru-nii can't be dead..."

"He is," Naoko replied coldly. "You saw him there."

"We could've helped him!" cried Sumire. "What if we were there or something—"

"What-ifs are for cowards. You can't take back your past actions. If you couldn't do something then... Then start doing something now."

The Makoshima siblings moved past him, disappearing around the corner.

 _They must have taken the bus here_ , he thought absently.

Kindaichi exhaled slowly, a white cloud forming from his breath.

It was so damn _cold_.

* * *

**May 5th, 2018**

It was a warm evening in Tokyo when Kindaichi emerged from the Uchisaiwaicho Station. If he remembered correctly, Hibiya Park, which was opposite the Public Prosecutors Office, was where Shimizu walked through every time after a shift.

 _But I don't know_ when _her shift ends. Or if she even has one today._ Hibiya Park was a behemoth of a garden—it would be the wisest choice to check the Public Prosecutors Office first. He burst through the doors trying to catch his breath, having run all the way from the station to the building like a bat out of hell.

He wasn't sure if it was relief or fear that gripped him when the light brown eyes of Miyuki greeted him at the receptionist's desk. "Oh, you're Kindaichi-san, right? What are you doing here at this hour?" She frowned. "Sakusa-san terminated your internship before his suspension."

"I know that," Kindaichi said hurriedly. "It's got nothing to do with him. I just need to know something. Is Shimizu-san working today?"

"Well," Miyuki clicked her mouse, not quite looking at him, "She was here earlier today, but her shift ended ten minutes ago."

"And her fiancé?" he pressed. "Tanaka-san? He walked her home, right?"

"Oh, yes, about that. Unfortunately, Tanaka-san broke his leg a few weeks ago and he's not quite fit enough yet to walk her home. But Ono-san," she pointed her pen at the middle-aged security guard by the door, "saw her off. Hey, Ono-san!"

Ono lumbered over. "You called, Miyuki-san?"

"You walked Kiyoko-san halfway through the park, right?"

He nodded. "That's right. Walked her to the fountain, I did. On the way back, her boyfriend thanked me for looking after her."

Miyuki's mouth fell. It was a gradual process. "Her... boyfriend...?"

"Yes. That nice Tanaka-san." Ono smiled, crows' feet appearing at the corners of his eyes. "I heard they're going to get married soon—"

"Ono-san, you idiot!" Miyuki screeched, standing up and reaching across the tall desk to grab the security guard's shirt collar and shake him. "Tanaka-san's not getting his cast off until two weeks from now! Keep up with the gossip, why don'tcha?!"

Ono's eyes popped open. "Ah. Then that guy was—?"

"Probably her stalker," Kindaichi finished. "Oh, shit," he began to backpedal, "I'm gonna go find her!"

"If you don't come back in forty minutes, I'm calling the police!" Miyuki called after him. "Keep her safe, Kindaichi-saaaan!" As he disappeared out the doors, she glared at Ono, who was sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "What am I gonna do with you, Ono-san?"

Kindaichi could hear his heart beating between his ears—however strange that sounded—as he dashed out of the building and sprinted toward the park. The balls of his feet began to ache when he passed the fountain—the one that Ono must have saw her off at—and he resolved to throw out his old sneakers and buy a new pair with Goshiki (who had a keen eye for good quality shoes) once this was all over.

Panting, he slowed to a stop in a clearing, brows furrowed in worry as he glanced around his surroundings. There weren't many people out this late—the only people he saw were a young couple buying potato twirls from an old chip vendor. His eyes crinkled in gratitude when he received his money.

 _Ugh, dammit! Okay, Yuutarou, think..._ Kindaichi wracked his brain. _If I were Shimizu-san, I would probably walk to a busy street to catch a bus or train back to wherever I live..._ He shifted uncertainly. _Maybe due west from here, to Harumi Dori Avenue?_ There was no time for second-guessing himself, even if his first guess was just a stab in the dark. Breathing oxygen back into his lungs, Kindaichi set off.

* * *

It had been a hectic shift at work today. For whatever reason, one of the senior prosecutors had seen it fit to bring his extremely large and extremely loud dog into the work building. Shimizu had spent almost an hour trying to talk him from bringing his pet further inside, her customer service demeanor almost giving up on her when he threatened to speak to the Chief Prosecutor about her 'inappropriate conduct'. Luckily, Prosecutor Chinen had rescued her from being fired, and the other prosecutor had begrudgingly tied his dog to a pole outside.

(He came back out twenty minutes later to shoo Ono away from petting it and to walk it to his son's house).

Her shift had ended at six-thirty, as it normally did, and Ono had been kind enough to walk her up to the fountain. From here, she would continue down to Harumi Dori Avenue, then to Hibiya Station.

Shimizu let out a deep sigh. Right now, there was nothing more she wanted than a night of rest and relaxation. Any bedroom activities had been thrown out the window, anyway, since Tanaka was still recovering from his leg. _I don't feel like cooking tonight. Maybe I'll pick up some takeaway and some snacks from Natural Lawson..._

Footsteps sounded.

A shiver crept down Shimizu's spine and under her skin, and she halted abruptly. _What was that?_ With wary eyes, she turned, relief washing over her when she saw that there was nothing there. Surely, she was just being paranoid.

 _But they never caught him._ She clutched her handbag tighter. _And then there was that man I met the other night..._

Shimizu turned back around—

"Hello."

She squealed, slapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment when she spotted the man in front of her. _It's him!_ Her instincts were screaming at her to run, but her legs were rooted to the ground. _The man from the other night!_

He looked mostly the same, a genteel smile curving his lips up. His eyes were sharp, giving her the impression of a hawk eyeing its prey, and he wore a worn baseball cap that didn't go with the rest of his outfit—an ensemble mostly made up of brand names that Miyuki enjoyed gushing over.

The man laughed. "Ah, I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

 _Get away...!_ "N-no," stammered Shimizu. "I-I apologize, I didn't mean to scream... I'll get going now." Hastily, she made to stalk past him, but his arm snapped outward and long fingers wrapped around her slender wrist. _No!_ "What are you doing?"

"Now, now," he laughed again, "Don't go yet. I've been wanting to meet with you for some time now." To her absolute disgust and horror, a blush—one that could be called shy—bloomed over his otherwise pallid cheeks.

"Let me go."

"I will, if you promise not to run away," he said, mildly. "If you do, I _will_ catch you, you know."

Shimizu said nothing.

So he did not release her. "I don't know if you remember me, but..." He took off his cap. "We met a long, long time ago."

Heart racing, her gaze darted from side to side, trying to find an escape path. "No," she said coolly, hoping he didn't hear her voice tremble. "I don't remember you."

"My name is Chen Jianhong."

She blinked.

"I remember... Falling in love with you all those years ago."

"What?!" Shimizu blurted, unable to contain her reaction this time. Even in her youth, Shimizu had attracted many suitors. And she _knew_ this. But those suitors had all been high school boys who had worn their hearts on their sleeves, or young college students awestruck by her mature, feminine beauty. This man... He had to be at least ten years older than her. _'All those years ago'... I would've been a teenager...!_ She felt her stomach lurch.

"Honestly," Chen smirked, "I'm a bit hurt you don't remember me. Why don't I refresh your memory? It was spring of 2008—"

_2008?! I was thirteen!_

"—a warm day in Sendai." Chen adjusted his grip on her so that their hands were entwined.

 _No... No, let go of me!_ Weakly, Shimizu tried to pull away, but he was too strong. _I... I'll let him talk...! And then I'll run!_

"My boss, Shinya, was rounding up some brats from some old lady's cooking school. And then I saw _you_. You came out of the ice-cream shop with your mom, and she went to go talk with a friend. You stood next to her, but you weren't listening. Then her friend started walking away, and your mom followed. But _you_ didn't."

"Wait," Shimizu breathed, "That man... That day... That was you?"

It was a bit of a blur, but she remembered it clearly enough. A man— _Chen_ —had crossed the road after a lorry passed, and had struck up conversation with her. He had made idle talk, and then asked for directions. It was such an insignificant interaction, and yet...

"I was a _child_ ," Shimizu whispered harshly. "I was _thirteen_!"

"I know." His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I wanted you so bad... To the point where I tried to replace you... But no, that didn't work. There was no way we could've been together. Now... Why do you think I've waited so many years?" Womanhood suits you well, _Kiyoko-chan_." Chen leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear. "It's been so damn difficult, getting away from that bitch, Oishi... You have no idea how hard it's been, spending all these years without you... Every night, I dream of you, I dream of you underneath me—"

Without warning, Shimizu stamped down on his foot as hard as she could. His jaws stretched almost monstrously as he screamed into the night, his grip on her hands loosening just enough for her to untangle their fingers and stumble backward.

Shimizu cursed her heels as she ran at half her usual speed, sheer helplessness threatening to devour her whole. Her handbag bouncing up and down, she reached into it and searched wildly for her phone. _The police... I need to call the police!_

_"COME BACK HERE, YOU BITCH!"_

Her phone fell out of her hands when Chen grabbed the back of her hair and _pulled_. Shimizu's shriek was cut off, his wide hand clapping over her mouth. Frantically, she tried to bite him, but to no avail.

"How dare you!" hissed Chen, jerking on her hair. "How dare you hurt your husband!"

"Mmph!" Shimizu elbowed him in the gut, but he barely flinched. Tears bloomed at the corners of her eyes as she thrashed against him. But for such a lean man, he was utterly _immovable_.

 _Help!_ she silently shrieked, her breaths shortening. _Someone help me!_

"Now," Chen's tongue pressed against her jawline, "You're coming with me—"

"SHIMIZU-SAN!"

"What the—?!"

Shimizu fell to her knees and took a gasping breath, the hand that had nearly obstructed her breathing gone. She whipped around to see Kindaichi wrestling against Chen on the ground. _Kindaichi-san?!_

"YOU FUCKING _BASTARD_!" Kindaichi howled, punching Chen square in the nose with such wrath that Shimizu stiffened in terror. "Don't you dare... hurt anyone else!"

A low growl emanated from his throat. "Mrrrgh, get off me!"

Kindaichi didn't have time to react when Chen tucked his legs to his chest and then kicked, sending the younger man flying. He landed with a thud on the pathway, rolling twice before stilling. _What the hell...! He's so strong?!_ He coughed and hacked as he pushed himself up, already feeling sapped of his strength. Kindaichi lifted his head, only for Chen to punch him across the face, the blow nearly knocking him out.

"Who the fuck are you, punk?" Chen sneered, grabbing Kindaichi's hair and lifting him up with ease. "You think you're tough or somethin'? _You_ _should've just walked away_."

Stars exploded in the back of his eyelids as Chen smashed his knee against his cheek before letting him drop.

 _Chen Jianhong..._ Kindaichi thought, woozily. _That's right... He wasn't just the manager..._ His eyes shifted upward blearily so that he was looking at what he thought was a billboard depicting idol and model Oishi Ryoka. _He was also the bodyguard...!_

Chen turned his back to Kindaichi's fallen form, striding toward Shimizu, whose skirt was torn. She was trying to work her phone, but the fall had broken it. "Now, where were we?"

Kindaichi's eyes fluttered. _It hurts so much..._ All he wanted now was to fall asleep—

_"Coward."_

_"I've_ been _a coward. But I swear to you, I'm going to be better than that now."_

Grunting and doing his best to ignore the pain and the taste of blood in his mouth, Kindaichi shakily got up. _Dammit... I'm already on my last legs...! But like hell I'm gonna let him have his way with her!_ With the last of his strength, he shot forward and tackled Chen to the ground, trying to pin him down.

"What the?! You're still trying to pick a fight?!"

"Kindaichi-san!" Shimizu gasped. She got to her feet crawled over to where Kindaichi was holding him down, putting her weight against Chen, too. "D-do you have a phone?!"

"It's in my bag." Kindaichi winced when his cheek suddenly throbbed from Chen's previous attack. "Argh... I threw it down over there! I'll hold him off, go call the police!"

"R-right!" Her legs still feeling weak, she had to crawl on all fours over to where Kindaichi's brown messenger bag was laying. She opened the flap up and undid the zip, fingers desperately grabbing for the phone.

A scream sounded behind her, and she turned her head to see Chen kicking Kindaichi, who was curled up into a ball on the ground. _No... Please, Kindaichi-san, hold on!_

"I'll kill you!" declared Chen, spittle spraying from his mouth as he continued to stamp on Kindaichi. "I'll kill you, you cockblocking _asshole_! And you!" Shimizu nearly jumped out of her skin when he pointed at her. "You'd better not fucking _move_!"

Shimizu's eyes were round with horror as he approached her, his eyes fierce and promising vengeance like a war god.

"Hey."

Chen whipped around.

And a fist sent him to the ground.

Connected to that fist was an arm, and to that arm was—

"Kageyama?" Shimizu blinked.

Kageyama Tobio stood under the moonlight, his gaze flat as he regarded Chen, who was moaning lowly, clutching his nose. The former was dressed in sportswear—if Shimizu had to guess, Kageyama had been jogging in the park before coming across them.

"Kageyama?" Kindaichi repeated, slurring the name. He removed his arms from his head, struggling to sit up. Chen hadn't drawn any blood from him, but there were already dark bruises forming on his face.

Kageyama didn't answer. Instead, he stepped on the back of Chen's head and stamped it into the ground. He repeated the action, over and over and over again, his expression never changing. Kindaichi and Shimizu could only watch on, stunned.

Eventually, Chen stopped moving.

"What?" Kindaichi was at a loss for words. "You...?"

"The trick is the kick them while they're down," Kageyama explained, raising a brow. He said it so naturally, as if there was nothing wrong with the statement. "Are you two hurt?"

"I'm fine," Shimizu found her voice, "Go help Kindaichi-san."

"'Kay." With that, Kageyama hunched forward beside Kindaichi, holding out a hand.

Wordlessly, Kindaichi took it.

"Where does it hurt?" inquired Kageyama, reaching out to touch his face.

Kindaichi stopped him. "Where did you learn how to fight like that...?" _How to fight dirty? Kicking them while they're down... That's fucking twisted... And yet... He saved us both._

"Juvie," answered Kageyama, again with that infuriating candidness in his tone.

"Juvie?!" Kindaichi spluttered before flinching, having aggravated his wounds. "You... You went to juvie?!"

"Yeah."

 _What else don't I know about him?_ Feeling more helpless than when Chen had been beating him to a pulp, Kindaichi stared into Kageyama's calm, blue gaze. _Kageyama... Do I really know you at all?_ He shook his head. He could think about that later—right now, he needed to help Shimizu and inform the police—

Shimizu whimpered.

"Both of you, get the _fuck_ down. And don't say a fucking _word_."

Chen had a blade pressed against her neck. His face was a black and blue mess, his nose broken.

Slowly, Kindaichi and Kageyama raised their arms in surrender, kneeling down.

"Sorry," Kageyama murmured under his breath. "I should've been more thorough."

Kindaichi swallowed. "Don't be," he whispered back.

Chen laughed—it was higher than his usual pitch. "I'm gonna take my leave now." He gave their lowered bodies a wide berth, clinging to Shimizu's smaller body, the knife still held at her neck. "Call the police when I'm gone, if you want. But I'll be done by then. I might even be outta the fucking country—"

"POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!"

"What?!" Chen barked, eyes widening when officers swarmed into the area, coming from the direction of the Public Prosecutors Office. "How...?! Who...?!"

 _Did Miyuki-san already call the police?_ Relief had Kindaichi exhaling sharply. _It hasn't been forty minutes yet, though... So who_ — _?_

"Yeah," a voice drawled. "That would be _me_. I called them as soon as you grabbed her."

Tsukishima Kei stood behind Inspector Sawamura Daichi with his arms crossed, his lip curled in the slightest sneer. The latter had his gun drawn, several officers similarly poised. Two officers were tending to Kindaichi and Kageyama, helping them stand and checking whatever injuries they sported.

"TSUKISHIMA?!" Chen roared. "You traitorous bastard!"

"Yawn."

"You—!"

"I SAID HANDS IN THE AIR!" bellowed Daichi, lifting his gun up higher. "It's over, Chen. Let her _go_."

"Hah... Hahaha... HAHAHAHA! ARE YOU FREAKIN' SHITTIN' ME RIGHT NOW?!" Chen buckled over in laughter, the knife still hugging Shimizu's throat. "You're not gonna shoot me... _None_ of you are gonna shoot me, 'cause it means hitting her, too! Am I right?!"

Daichi didn't answer, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple.

"Now," Chen grinned widely, "Why don't you listen to _me_ , officer—"

Whatever he had been about to say, none of them ever heard. A crutch descended upon the crown of Chen's head, and he went cross-eyed. Then he dropped, Shimizu running towards Daichi's arms.

Breathing hard, Tanaka Ryuunosuke steadied himself, readjusting his crutches. "Don't you dare..." A deep breath. "Touch my..." He wheezed then. "Kiyoko dearest...!"

"Ryuu!" cried Shimizu, beaming.

The officers streamed around her to arrest Chen.

Daichi put his gun away, urgently asking Shimizu, "Are you okay?"

Shimizu nodded. "I'll be fine, Daichi. Ryuu!" She ran up to Tanaka. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't come home," Tanaka explained, his expression one of pure and utter relief. "I knew somethin' was wrong, I just knew it, so I had to come! I hobbled as fast as I could. Ooft!" Shimizu had drawn him into a tight embrace, sobbing into his shoulder. "Don't cry, Kiyoko dearest, I'm here now..."

Tanaka and Shimizu were led to the side by a few officers. Daichi consolidated with one before warily making eye contact with Tsukishima, who was frowning at Kageyama's direction.

"I don't need an ambulance," Kindaichi was irritably reassuring a police officer. "It's just bruising. Nothing's bleeding or broken, seriously."

"You know," Kageyama said. "Internal bleeding is a thing. You should go get checked anyway."

"He's right, sir," added the officer. "It could be deadly."

"I—ugh, fine. But," Kindaichi glanced at where Chen was being hoisted up, "Can you gimme a moment?"

As Kindaichi limped over to Chen, Kageyama and the officer exchanged a look. "Don't leave," the officer told him, a little awkwardly. "We still need to take your statement."

Kageyama nodded. "Okay."

The officer stayed by his side, only getting up and leaving when Daichi came over to dismiss him. Kageyama blinked at the appearance of his old volleyball captain. "Daichi-san."

"Hey," Daichi grinned lopsidedly, "Ah... How're you holding up?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

"Right, well... That's good. So," Daichi fidgeted, clearing his throat, "How have you been? It's been six years since we last... crossed paths."

"I'm doing alright," Kageyama replied truthfully.

Silence.

Perhaps, thought Kageyama, he had been expecting more. _I guess he doesn't know me at all, then._

"Wow, this is hard to watch."

Daichi frowned as Tsukishima sauntered up to them, his hands hidden in his designer coat's pockets, the garment a tan that complemented his blond hair.

"'Sup, King."

Kageyama took a long sniff. "Are you drunk?"

The blond scoffed. " _No_. But..." He dropped his gaze. "I think we have some things to talk about."

"Yes," Daichi agreed with a sigh. "We do. All of us do."

To their surprise, Kageyama shook his head. "No," he said, almost gently. "If this is about what happened in high school... There's no need. Those years are behind us."

 _They're behind_ me _,_ were the words unspoken.

"Maybe so," said Daichi. "But that's no excuse for what we did in the past. We let you down when you needed us most. And for that..." His voice cracked, an he had to clear his throat again. "I'm so sorry."

Tsukishima folded his arms across his chest, not quite meeting Kageyama's eyes. "Ugh... I can't believe that you're the one being mature about this. Honestly, that kinda pisses me off."

Kageyama deadpanned, tilting his head. "It does?"

"Yeah, it does." Tsukishima finally looked up at him, pained. "Because it just tells me that I'm the one who still needs to grow up."

"I see."

"Tch. For what it's worth..." He swallowed. "I'm sorry I treated you like shit back then. Even if you did try to choke me, I may have... said some provocative things."

A snort. "That's one thing I haven't forgotten—you insulted my grandfather."

"Yes. Yes I did. God, do I have to apologize again? Because I'm sor—"

Kageyama chuckled, stunning both of them into silence. "Hey, Tsukishima."

"... What?"

"I hope you have a nice life," Kageyama told him, honestly. "You too, Daichi-san. And I hope... That they're nothing like mine used to be. Ah," he turned to the side, "I think I should get my statement taken. Goodnight, you two."

"Goodnight," Daichi called after him lamely.

"... Hey," Tsukishima muttered, watching Kageyama leave. "Daichi-san."

"Hm?"

"I have one month of my contract left. I think," he inhaled, "I'm not gonna renew it."

Daichi's eyes widened at the implication. "I see. Well," he clasped Tsukishima's shoulder as he stepped away, "Good for you. I'll see you around—I got my job to do."

"Mm." Tsukishima took his phone out of his pocket, frowning.

**1 new text from Yamaguchi Tadashi**

He breathed out, a weight lifting from his chest.

As Tsukishima typed his response, Kindaichi stood adamantly in front of a freckle-faced rookie officer who was preventing him from speaking with Chen.

"I'm telling you," Kindaichi argued. "I just need to say some things to him, that's all."

"Sir, you're clearly injured, and that man is dangerous—"

"Just give me a minute!"

"I can't—"

"Do it," Daichi authorized, sidling next to Kindaichi. "One minute is fine."

The freckle-faced officer reluctantly moved aside, allowing Kindaichi and Daichi to pass to where Chen was being steadied by three men. The hawk-eyed man spat at them as they approached, Kindaichi making a face at the wad of spit that had landed before his feet.

Kindaichi glared down at him. There was so much he wanted to say—so much hurt and anger to unload upon Chen's wretched figure—but not enough time. So he got straight to the point. "Rot in _hell_ , motherfucker."

Chen grinned, but it was more like a carnal baring of the teeth. "At least _I_ waited."

His fists clenched. "Did you say that, too, when you killed them?"

"Huh? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know _damn_ well what I'm talking about!" Kindaichi felt Daichi's hand on his shoulder, the older man trying to keep him calm. "I'm talking about Oikawa, about Miya Osamu—!"

"Slow down. You think _I_ killed them? I'm a lot of things, punk, but a murderer's not one of 'em."

 _What?_ Kindaichi stiffened. The hateful fire in Chen's eyes had simmered down slightly—his fury replaced by something between confusion and cruel amusement at Kindaichi's expense. _No... It can't be... If it wasn't him, then..._

"Time's up," rumbled Daichi. "Let's take him to the station. Sorry," he tacked on for Kindaichi.

"It's fine..."

"I can get a car for you," the inspector offered. "To the hospital."

"Y-yeah, that'd be good, thanks..."

A uniformed officer helped him into the back of a police car, making sure to handle him with care. The pain, which Kindaichi had pushed aside, began to torment him again, and he felt the wounds Chen had inflicted on him flare up again, aching with a vengeance. His features half-covered by shadow, he stared out the window of the car, observing Kageyama agree to following the officers to the station. They herded him away, where he converged with Tanaka and Shimizu—they exchanged distantly polite greetings.

Worn to the bone, Kindaichi sunk into the car seat, a stone forming in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

Naoko took a long sip from her thermos, warm water sliding down her throat and spreading the heat through her body. It was cold in here.

"Ma'am," a prison warden's voice sounded from behind her, "Visiting hours are up. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You'll undergo a security check before you leave."

"I understand," Naoko said without turning around. She made no move to get up.

"You should go," the man sitting across from her said gruffly, looking away.

A small smile crept up to her lips, remorseful and fading. "Then I'll see you next time... Hajime."

Albeit tiredly, Iwaizumi Hajime—dressed in his dull green prison clothes—returned the smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sakusa will return next chapter, and Atsumu will probably wake up soon in like the next chapter or the one after the next one eeehiwgfqgubwu
> 
> I realized I never celebrated 2k on AO3!! I love my AO3 readers, so I made another soundtrack for y'all. It goes a little bit faster than I would've liked because I'm inconsistent and get frustrated easily, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway!!
> 
> [shard society ost 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7h3c_aHvJfI&feature=youtu.be)
> 
>   
> it's on my IG @_yangri too
> 
> In saying that... I'm gonna copy and paste my Wattpad author's note here... 
> 
> Additionally... There's something I need to ask of you... I know it may be a lot to ask, but I was hoping if uh diwhiqwifgiqfigoqogfew
> 
> ok i need to give context/background so like my friend Blue nominated me for a HQ fanfic award and now i'm getting a bit antsy i kinda wanna win, so... i was wondering if you could all vote for me? it pains me to ask, because i know you guys don't really owe me anything and maybe i'm not doing enough to pay you back and idk if i'll even win since there are so many bigger stories and popular authors out there but idk dihwfgfge i'm just rambling at this point i'm kinda like super nervous about asking this ffhigqiqiqvfvuafevvsvfiegfe keyboard smash x 10
> 
> the category is 'best alternate universe story' and the instructions are on the page i'll put the link to the page in the inline comments in this paragraph and idk what to say anymore but i feel like i really need to explain myself for even daring to compete when i know i'm a peasant a small fish in a big pond goddamn i told you i was gonna put a long rambly authors note Blue holy shit i'm just typing random things at this point im internally crying aduigfgiqgwgfgeuwi ok bye please vote i guess i don't really know how to ask i'm not used to this at all
> 
> this is the voting link ig, if u have wattpad fgfegq
> 
> [hq awards wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/886591032-haikyuu-awards-of-2020-%E2%9C%A7-nominations-%E2%9C%A7)


	20. Inside Forces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi is discharged from hospital and runs into Sakusa. Shirabu has a conversation with Dr. Miyazawa.

**May 6th, 2018**

"You know," Sakusa deadpanned. "I didn't expect the next time we meet to be at the hospital, Kindaichi." It was warm enough for him to forego his usual long coat today, leaving him clad in only his black slacks and dark grey turtleneck sweater. Standing across from him with a bandage stuck on his cheek was Kindaichi, a sheepishly weary smile on his face.

"Heh. I didn't expect it either... What're you doing here, Sakusa?"

When he had been brought to the hospital last night, he'd been examined. After finding no signs of internal bleeding or any other internal injuries, they had treated his external ones and let him stay overnight. A nurse had popped into his room an hour or so ago to inform him that he was allowed to leave today, and had brought his clothes—which the staff had kindly cleaned for him—to him.

After that had been a much needed shower, and now...

"You look terrible."

Kindaichi's eyebrow twitched. "Blunt as always."

"Sawamura filled me in on what happened last night," Sakusa told him. They walked together, his hands in his pockets as he recalled the phone call he had received last night from the inspector. "And I have to say—you're _insane_."

"Gee, thanks."

Sakusa chuckled under his mask. "It was noble, though. To protect Shimizu-san like you did. It makes sense—for a Gemini."

His eyes widened. "When did you—?"

"I've known since the day I met you."

Kindaichi felt his ears burn, shoulders sagging. "Huh... So you knew the whole time. How?"

"Your date of birth is on your student profile, idiot."

"Geh! Wait!" Kindaichi said, accusatory. "Then why did you ask me all that stuff about my zodiac?"

But Sakusa didn't answer, merely walking ahead to the elevator. Muttering under his breath, Kindaichi strode after him, stopping an arm's length away from the prosecutor, just like how Sakusa liked it. It was then he finally realized something—that this was the first time he was seeing him dressed in casual wear. "I'm glad I met you, Kindaichi. Lesser men would've allowed for Chen to have his way with her."

"Y-yeah..." The thought of such a thing happening to anyone made his stomach stir. "Say, where are you going now?"

"I have a meeting with Sawamura." Sakusa turned to him. "Including you, multiple witnesses were interviewed last night. Oishi Ryoka and Tsukishima Kei are two of them. Sawamura will be relaying their testimonies to me, as well as other additional information."

"Right. Uh..." Kindaichi shuffled his feet. "I just have one question."

Sakusa arched an eyebrow.

"Why did you get rid of me? Wait, I meant like— _gah_. Why did you terminate my internship?"

"Ah." Sakusa stepped into the elevator along, Kindaichi following along. "Press for the fifth floor."

He did.

"I'm sure you're curious about what led up to my suspension," began Sakusa. They began to rise, and Kindaichi briefly pondered just why he was following Sakusa when he was meant to be heading home. His phone was out of charge and the guys were surely wondering where he was. But he quickly shook the thought away—he wanted answers, and Sakusa was _iffy_ on text.

"Well, _yeah_ ," Kindaichi said. "Okazaki-san didn't really have time to explain anything. Just that you were suddenly suspended and that I needed to work the case by myself..."

Sakusa grumbled. "That woman... I never took myself off the case to begin with." He paused. " _She_ might have, but something's clouding her judgement. Tch. Not that it isn't usually absolute shit anyway."

"Who _is_ this 'she'?"

"Her name is Hirakawa Noriko. You may have heard of her; she's the Prosecutor-General."

"Ah," Kindaichi's eyes lit up in recognition, "The 'Owl-face' person?"

Underneath his mask, Sakusa smirked, amused. "Yes, her. She's the daughter of a powerful man, and I can't even begin to count the amount of illicit strings she must've pulled to be where she is."

"A powerful man, huh...?"

"Mm. She's the second daughter of Hirakawa Daizen."

"Oh, I learned about him," Kindaichi said. "He and Midorima Mahiro sponsored the National Youth Offender's Rehabilitation Program in 2013. They were the ones who brought it to life, basically. Huh... I didn't realize he had two daughters." A ding sounded, and the elevator doors opened up. Sakusa stepped out first, followed by Kindaichi. "Wait, you said you had a meeting with Inspector Sawamura. Why did you come up here...?"

Sakusa halted in front of the door, his hand hovering above the door handle as he hesitated; behind him, Kindaichi cocked his head, puzzled. "There's no reason," he said evenly. He opened it, calmly issuing a greeting to Daichi, who was seated at the table by the window with a cup of steaming hot tea and scrolling through something on his phone. He must have gotten it from the nearby break room. "Sawamura."

Kindaichi gave the blond man laying unconscious on the hospital bed a curious glance.

"Ah, Sakusa." Daichi looked up, grinning. "Eh? You brought someone else." Sakusa moved aside for Daichi to get a clear view of Kindaichi—his eyes became round. "Kindaichi-san!" They got seated at the table, too. "How're you holding up?"

"Could be better, but I'm pretty much fine," replied Kindaichi, returning his smile.

"That's great. Although," Daichi glanced at Sakusa, "I didn't think you'd bring him here, Sakusa."

"It wasn't intentional," admitted Sakusa, flippantly. "We just happened to run into each other in the lobby. Now talk to me, Sawamura."

"Right." Daichi reached down, opened up his black bag, and removed his laptop. He set it in front of him, Kindaichi moving his elbows off the tabletop to make room for the device. "Before I get into the details of last night, though, I emailed you a list of all the staff members and contestants that were in KidProdigy 2008."

Sakusa nodded. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Anyway... As you know, Chen Jianhong attacked Shimizu Kiyoko last night." His face soured as he said this. "Multiple testimonies—some about Chen's behavior prior to and during the attack—were given by Kindaichi Yuutarou," he gave Kindaichi a look, "Tsukishima Kei, Oishi Ryoka, Kageyama Tobio, and Tanaka Ryuunosuke. We have two victim testimonies. One from Kindaichi, and the other from Shimizu." Daichi typed something into his laptop before scratching the collar of his green sweater. "I'll start off with Shimizu's. She was walking through Hibiya Park from the Public Prosecutors Office—a route she takes to and from Hibiya Station every working day she has—at around seven in the evening, she started getting the feeling she was being followed. Apparently, she had experienced this feeling more than once in the span of one and a half months, and has even seen a tall figure standing outside of the office building. Her description of the stalker matches Chen. Chen approached her soon after that feeling, and confessed to..."

As Daichi went over Shimizu's personal account, Sakusa and Kindaichi listened attentively, the latter's knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table.

"Wait," Kindaichi interjected at one point, massaging his temples, "Let me get this straight. Chen's been stalking Shimizu-san since 2008? What the fuck?"

"More like he's been dedicating his morning wood to her since then," Sakusa chimed, rather crudely; he sounded nothing short of disgusted.

"This is headache-inducing."

"Welcome to your future career."

"This is so fucked up," Kindaichi mumbled. " _Please_ tell me that guy's gonna rot in prison for the rest of his life."

"Interrogation was still underway the last I was at the station," reported Daichi, not saying much else on the matter. "He's not cracking easily. We won't have anything solid from him for a while."

"That's fine," Sakusa said, even though they all knew that it was anything but that.

Daichi proceeded to recount Tsukishima's testimony to them. Apparently, the model had always been wary of Chen's behavior, and had noticed that the man disappeared often during the evening—around the same time that Shimizu normally clocked out. When Chen had excused himself from last night's party with little explanation—an expedition that breached his contract with Oishi Ryoka's company—Tsukishima's suspicions had heightened enough for him to follow the older man out. He had kept up with Chen all the way to Hibiya Park, a good half an hour away from where the company party had been taking place, before calling the police as soon as Chen assaulted Shimizu by grabbing her hair. From there, he had watched Kindaichi and Kageyama step in to defend Shimizu from the treeline, and then intercepted the officers and marched with them.

"He saw me getting beat up and didn't step in?" Kindaichi demanded, outraged.

At that, Daichi smiled lopsidedly. "Tsukishima... He's always been the logical type. The kind to wait things out. Most likely, he knew that he would've been outmatched if he had come to blows with Chen. From what we know, he lived on the streets for a while—he would've picked up some fighting tricks here and there."

There was some truth in that, Kindaichi supposed, remembering with a slight wince the heavy blows Chen had landed on him. He would've been a goner if Kageyama hadn't intervened. _Kageyama... Now that's a whole other can of worms..._

Sakusa spared his former intern a glance. "What's the matter?"

Kindaichi shook his head. "It's nothing big. Just something I can deal with another time."

The stories of each witness all came together eventually. Kindaichi did a live retelling of his testimony, and Daichi relayed Tanaka, Kageyama, and Oishi's testimonies. Being the worried husband he was, Tanaka had _hobbled_ all the way from the apartment he shared with Shimizu to rescue her at Hibiya Park when she didn't come home. Kageyama's appearance at the scene of the crime was merely a coincidence—he jogged frequently at the park, and had been on one of his evening runs when he inadvertently stumbled across Chen assaulting Kindaichi. Oishi hadn't been present during the incident, but she had agreed to talk to police and had given some rather spectacular insights into Chen's character.

"I'll keep you updated," Daichi promised, packing his laptop away as their consolidation session finished.

"I'd appreciate that," replied Sakusa, politely.

Daichi closed the door behind him, Kindaichi watching with curious eyes when Sakusa didn't make to leave as well. "You're staying?"

"Yeah." Sakusa didn't look up from his laptop, which he had gotten out while Daichi had been retelling Tanaka's story. "I still have some things to do."

Puzzled, Kindaichi looked around, gaze finally resting on Atsumu's unconscious form. "In this guy's hospital room...?"

"Yes," Sakusa said tersely. "What of it?"

"Who even _is_ that?"

"Hm?" For the first time, Sakusa peered up, frowning. "Ah, right. I guess you wouldn't know." He stood, his back curving in an arc as he stretched. "This is Miya Atsumu—he's Miya Osamu's twin brother."

"What?!" Kindaichi gaped. "For real?" Quickly, he scuttled over to the bed, taking in the blond man's appearance. The resemblance was certainly too uncanny for their relation to be anything other than identical twins. "So this is Atsumu... What happened to him? Why's he... _y'know_."

Sakusa hummed as he opened something on his device. "There should be a summary report in my bag, in the back slot of the main pocket. Go sanitize your hands first before you even think of touching it."

"Yessir!" It was all too easy for Kindaichi to forget that he wasn't technically working under Sakusa anymore. He squirted a large blob of sanitizer—a large bottle of it sat on the empty wall shelf next to the door for guests—and rubbed it into his hands like Okazaki had shown him.

Once he had the summary report, he sat down and began to read. It wasn't a particularly long report—just one and a half A4 pages. If there was anything Sakusa had taught him, it was not to gloss over important details and to be as pedantic as possible when it came to these things. He read the report over and over again, trying to absorb every last detail that Sakusa had bothered to include in his writing.

By the time he was done, it was already high noon.

"Sorry," Kindaichi excused himself. "But I think I should go now. My roommates are gonna be worried—"

"It's alright," Sakusa interrupted. "I was about to leave, too."

Kindaichi waited patiently for Sakusa to pack his things up before they left together. They kept a sizable distance apart; Kindaichi caught Sakusa looking back over his shoulder at Atsumu's room more than once.

"You know," Kindaichi started, slowing down as he passed through the automatic doors, silently relishing in the fresh air blowing against his face. "You never answered my question. Why did you terminate my internship?"

Sakusa halted, clutching his keys in one black-gloved hand. "I did it," he said slowly, turning around. "So the Owl-face wouldn't come after you, too. If anything had happened to me, at least the case would still be in good hands." He made to start walking again, but paused. "Need a ride?"

Kindaichi raised his hands, almost defensively. "A-ah, I'd planned to take the bus or the metro..."

"Tch. Just ride with me—public transport is _disgusting_."

Five minutes later, Kindaichi got into the passenger seat of Sakusa's obscenely spotless car, unable to resist a smile.

* * *

Shirabu scrunched up his nose just as he stepped into the room, important papers in hand. His boss and one of the best coroners in Tokyo, Dr. Miyazawa, was in the middle of pulling shrapnel from a recent mugging victim's rib cage. "Shot twice in the chest and torso," Miyazawa murmured to himself, setting the bits of metal aside.

"Miyazawa-san," Shirabu spoke up, making his presence known. The good doctor turned around. "Miya's autopsy report's been processed and copied. Here," he set it aside on the counter, "the original copy."

"Thank you." Miyazawa turned back, adjusting his goggles. "Say, Shirabu-kun."

Shirabu, who had been about to duck out, paused. "Yes, Miyazawa-san?"

"Miya's death is certainly peculiar, isn't it?"

"I don't see how."

Miyazawa nudged his head toward a rolling stool. "Grab it and come sit next to me."

Bewildered, Shirabu obeyed. Once he was settled and had a close-up view of the nameless victim's torso. "Sir...?"

"You're my only assistant, Shirabu-kun," said Miyazawa, not taking his eyes off from the body as he continued to work. "One day, I expect that you'll be taking over my position. It won't be immediate—it may take months, or years after my retirement... But one day, you'll find yourself stooped over a cadaver with a backache like me."

"You're not that old, Miyazawa-san."

Miyazawa scowled. "I'm sixty-three this year—I'll be retiring in five or six years from now. I'll make sure of it. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "One day, you'll be like me, and you'll realize... That not everything in front of you will," he gestured at the body with his gloved hands, "Give you the correct answer. It can point to many ways, but only one way leads to the truth of the crime."

 _The truth of the crime?_ Shirabu repeated in his head, brows furrowing slightly. Cautiously, he turned his head to look at the original copy of Miya Osamu's autopsy report, which was sitting—sealed in a packet—on the counter.

"It's not the body that's strange," continued Miyazawa. "Bodies are probably easier to work with when you know what you're doing. It's not your job to be running the investigations, Shirabu-kun, but this is something to keep in mind anyway."

"What's strange to you then?" asked Shirabu. "The fact that he died at all?"

"That and the suspects that Chinen-san has on her case board. She showed it to me the other day."

"And who are they?"

"They haven't gotten awful far, but their top suspect is the victim's twin brother, Miya Atsumu. From what I can remember," Miyazawa hummed in thought, "Testimony from Oishi Ryoka says that Miya had lost his apartment key card at the restaurant they dined together at some weeks ago in March—one where his brother was hired just days later. He received a new one after paying a fine, but the original key card was never recovered. Additionally, the twin is currently in no condition to provide an alibi, nor has anyone that's usually around him stepped forward. As for motives... Just a basic internet search will tell you that Miya Atsumu has plenty to choose from. So what do you think, Shirabu-kun?"

Feeling a prickling sensation stinging his skin under Miyazawa's wizened gaze, Shirabu fidgeted with his hands. "What about the other suspects?"

"The Yamazon worker who discovered the body and the building officer have also been questioned and listed as suspects, though the evidence Chinen-san has on them is considerably weaker." Patiently, Miyazawa added, "All signs seem to point to Miya Atsumu."

"Fine then. It looks like he did it." Shirabu let out an aggrieved sigh. "He's not the main suspect for no good reason. Yeah, let's say that he did do it."

"And what about this unfortunate fellow?" Miyazawa pointed at the cadaver in front of them. "How did he die?"

Shirabu squinted. "Looks like he died from his gunshot wounds. I'd wager the one on his chest—it's almost directly above the heart."

"At first glance, certainly. But in reality..." The old man hovered his finger above the corpse's head. "This man died from a stroke. His body killed him before the bullets did."

"I see."

"The cause was nigh invisible," Miyazawa stated. "Alas, it was not outside forces which led to his death, but inside ones."

"Right. Well," Shirabu stood, "You've been in here for a few hours already, and it's almost break time. Do you want me to get you something from the store?"

"A cucumber, chicken and mayonnaise sandwich would be nice, thank you."

Shirabu left the autopsy room, fetching his wallet from his personal belongings locker before heading out. _Inside forces, huh?_ Secretary Jay passed by him on the way out, and they said quick greetings. As he walked past the Public Prosecutors Office, he could not help but stop for a moment to peer up at the towering buildings. _Inside forces..._

In aisle three of the convenience store, he lifted his phone to his ear with one hand, his other hand snatching up two pre-made sandwiches chilling in the fridge section. "Hello? Yua, it's me, Kenjirou." His jaw clenched as the woman on the other end laughed something. "Fine. _Superintendent_ Yua, you _marvelous_ woman... I'm cashing in on that favor. _Yes_ , the one from three years ago." _Insufferable bitch._ "Not now. I'm out. I'll tell you what I need later."

Shirabu hung up and paid for his sandwiches (and some chips).

The bag of food thumped against his thigh as he stalked back to the forensics building, which existed as a side office to the police station. _Inside forces... Tch._

* * *

"What. The. _Hell_."

Kindaichi grimaced as Kunimi marched up to him. "I can explain—"

"Where were you the whole night?! And what happened to your face?!"

Kindaichi rarely saw Kunimi angry. The latter man was usually an expert at controlling his emotions—to the point where Kindaichi, even having known him for several years, had a hard time reading him at times—and to see him unraveling before him was sobering at best. " _My_ face? What happened to _yours_?"

Self-consciously, Kunimi raised a hand to graze the pad of his thumb against his bruised jawline. "I can explain everything. But where _were_ you? What happened?"

"Eh? Is Kindaichi back already?"

"Huh?"

The two men whipped around to see Goshiki standing at the doorway with a cardboard box in his arms, something cream-colored and fluffy poking out from the inside of the container. Goshiki blinked, confused, before saying, "The tape broke."

"It's on the counter," Kunimi told him, sounding exhausted.

Goshiki cast him a sympathetic glance before placing the box down on the kitchen island and grabbing the roll of tape.

"Wait a second," Kindaichi narrowed his eyes, "That's Yahaba's quilt in there. What..." He looked around, doing a double-take when he noticed that Yahaba's bed had been stripped bare and that most of his belongings were missing. "What are you guys _doing_?"

Kunimi and Goshiki exchanged a look.

"Last night," Kunimi sighed, tilting his chin; the dark circles around his eyes became accentuated. "I, um... Dammit, how the fuck do I even explain this—"

"Whoa!" Goshiki barely managed to dodge Kindaichi charging toward him and ripping the freshly-taped box open to pull out the quilt. "Darn, and I just resealed that, too..."

" _Where_ is Yahaba?" demanded Kindaichi, hugging the heavy blanket to his body. It still smelled like Yahaba's body wash, though the scent was beginning to fade.

"I was just about to tell you, so just stop, okay?!" Kunimi snapped. "Yahaba's _gone_ , Kindaichi. You wanna know how I got this?" His finger trembling, he jabbed it at his bruise. "He gave it to me. I tried to save him from himself, but...! He lost himself. It didn't work—he lost himself and now... He's not gonna be with us here anymore, okay?!"

"Then where is he?!"

"As far as I know, he's somewhere else! He needs to get better, but he can't do it here. Kindaichi, _please_. Put the blanket back."

Suppressing a groan, Kindaichi palmed his forehead, taking a deep inhale of breath to try and ebb away the pain. "Okay, okay... Lemme get this straight... You and Yahaba fought? Like, threw hands fought?"

Stiffly, Kunimi nodded.

"Shit."

In the backdrop, Goshiki tapped his fingers on the kitchen island, waiting for them to sort themselves out. His face was unreadable, revealing nothing about his thoughts about the current situation.

Kunimi began his tale. About his suspicions of Yahaba, and how he had planned to confront him but couldn't do so without cornering him first.

"And you didn't tell me _anything_?" Kindaichi accused.

"It's not like I could've just casually brought it up—"

"That isn't the _point_!"

"There wasn't any point of dragging more people into it!" Kunimi snarled. "Now it's _your_ turn! _Where. Were. You._ "

Kindaichi barked a laugh. "This isn't over."

"Yes it _is_."

"Guys," Goshiki said loudly. "His parents are coming down to pick up his stuff. We have to get ready by then, remember?"

Neither Kindaichi or Kunimi seemed to hear him.

"Fine, you wanna know where I was?! Remember Hanae-san? Yeah, well, she's a victim of a sick fuck, and someone else I knew would've been next if I hadn't stopped him! He beat me the hell up, and you know what happened next?!" Almost hysterically, Kindaichi guffawed. " _Kageyama_ showed. Kage- _fucking_ -yama. He nearly kills Chen, who's not even the killer, and then he tells me he's been to _juvie_. I don't know, man, I'm still trying to wrap my fucking _head_ around it!" His arm shot out then, sending a water bottle on the coffee table skidding toward the front door.

A muscle in Kunimi's face twitched as his fury slowly retreated, his lips pressing into a grim line. "Kindaichi—"

" _Stop_."

"Look," Goshiki tried again. "We just need to calm down and—"

Knuckles rapped on the door, and three heads turned to see a tall man with messy black hair standing at the door.

"Ah, oops," the man said, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he pushed some of his hair back. He peered down at the water bottle that had rolled to his feet before glancing back up. "Bad time?"

Kindaichi nearly dropped Yahaba's quilt on the floor. "Uh... And you are...?"

"The name's Kuroo Tetsurou. And I'm gonna be your new roommate."

* * *

Sakusa let out a low groan as he massaged his temple, narrowing his eyes at the screen in front of him. After hours of work and some sleep sacrificed, he had narrowed down Daichi's list of crew members and contestants (and their parents) to those mostly likely to have been involved in Oikawa's death, and a few names stuck out to him.

_Shō Shinya_

_Chen Jianhong_

_Miya Akari_

_Miya Atsumu/Osamu_

_Hanae Miyo_

_Hanae Ichika_

_Oikawa Himari_

_Takagi Chiasa_

**_Kageyama Miwa_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is more of a standard size one, but I hope y'all like it anyway! This is a bit of a turning point in the fic. Kinda like the end of 'part 1'.
> 
> High chance that Atsumu will reawaken by next chapter, and PHEW. Things are gonna go DOWN once we get his side of the story, and Iwaizumi's prison visit is also an upcoming event...
> 
> OKAY OKAY OKAY TIME TO GET EXCITED!!
> 
> I know it wasn't really coherent, so I'm actually amazed and astounded that votes actually were cast on Wattpad from users I recognize from AO3. Like... wow. Thank y'all. I didn't realize I'd get so many. I just dunno what to say honestly. This has never happened to me before, so I'm pretty much speechless. I didn't think I'd be good enough for this, and... I've been proven wrong?? Maybe?? We'll see. I would've liked to release another soundtrack, but the process for the 3rd one is taking longer than I would like, and I knew it wouldn't be done in time for this chapter to be uploaded.
> 
> There might be a sizable gap between this update and the next. I really need to focus on my uni assignments, so I'm gonna force myself to take a break from fanfiction for now.
> 
> Comments/feedback are love as always!


	21. Awakened Fissure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo's presence is explained, Hinata and Kageyama begin advertising Cafe Pezzo for the upcoming May Festival, Atsumu awakens, and Naoko visits Iwaizumi once more

**May 6th, 2018**

Tension buzzed around the gathered men, Kindaichi's chest heaving as his anger died down for the meantime, replaced with confusion—and, perhaps, some hurt, too. Kunimi stood a bit behind him, his brow lowered and his eyes alight with suspicion. Kuroo knelt and picked up the bottle, setting it aside on the small drawer by the end of the couch. As he stood, Kindaichi grimaced, clutching Yahaba's blanket even tighter.

Kuroo smiled crookedly. "Guess I really do have the worst timing, huh?"

Then he laughed.

The bastard _laughed_.

"Kindaichi," Kunimi warned, noticing the color on his friend's cheeks had disappeared.

"We'll talk about this later," Kindaichi said in a clipped tone, still holding the quilt.

"Kuroo-san, right?" Goshiki said, walking up to the man with surprising nonchalance. He held out his hand. Kuroo took it. "Welcome to the gang, I guess."

"Thanks." Kuroo's grin never faded. "Not the welcome I expected, but I appreciate it."

Goshiki turned back to where Kindaichi and Kunimi were still standing in a taut silence. "Guys," he said, sounding disapproving, "I'm gonna go make him some hot chocolate. You guys talk it out later."

"Fine," Kindaichi bit out before his shoulders sagged. "Sorry about that, Kuroo-san. Uh, can I get you anything?"

"Goshiki's already making him a drink," Kunimi murmured, leading Kindaichi to glare at him.

To his credit, Kuroo made no remark of the obvious hostility that had befallen them. Instead, he took the time to observe the room, a homely—but not too homely—and spacious—but not too spacious—place. There were no doors separating any of the areas except for the bathroom. "Nice place you guys got," he commented, squinting at a spider perched in one corner of the ceiling. "Hmm... Yeah, this'll do."

Kindaichi frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, no, that was probably rude of me, right?" Kuroo walked over to the couch and sat down without any prompting. "Don't worry—I didn't mean anything bad by it. I won't be here for long anyway."

"Oh?" Kunimi arched a brow as he sat on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Kindaichi half-seated on the armrest.

"Yeah." Kuroo rubbed the back of his head, seeming almost sheepish about his own situation. "To be honest, I'm not even a student like you guys. I'm working part-time as a tutor at Todai."

"A tutor?" parroted Kindaichi, Goshiki walking past him to put a tray of hot chocolates on the coffee table—one for each of them. Absently, Kindaichi picked up a cup, Kunimi following suit. "But these are student dorms."

"I'm a special situation." As if he were about to share a grave conspiracy, Kuroo leaned forward. "I dunno if you guys have heard, but... There's been a robbery at the university."

Kindaichi ogled him, while Kunimi merely blinked. The smallest crease appeared in Goshiki's brow as they absorbed the information.

"When?" asked Goshiki.

"Four days ago, in the one of the lab buildings belonging to the Department of Pharmaceutical Sciences, some chemicals were stolen," Kuroo explained, "It wasn't reported to the police, though. Todai's launching its own investigation instead. It's all a little hush-hush, but..." He shrugged. "It is what it is. Anyhow, I've been moved here so they can keep a closer eye on me. 'Cause, well," he paused, "I'm a suspect."

The ambiance clenched even tighter—so much so that Kindaichi thought he was having the air squeezed out of his lungs. From his peripheral, he could see that Kunimi was sitting with his back completely straight—it was enough to set him even more on edge.

Kuroo Tetsurou had sharp eyes. Behind his languid facade, there was something about his cat-like gaze that was untrustworthy. The only one that seemed to be somewhat at ease around him was Goshiki, who was casually sipping his hot chocolate. Their new roommate tilted his head, his chin resting on his knuckles.

"But you didn't do it, right?" Kunimi finally said. "No offence, but I'd rather not sleep in the same room as a criminal."

Again, Kuroo laughed. He was a laughing man, it seemed—a man who liked to laugh things off, no matter how serious they were. "Don't worry, don't worry. My hands are clean. I'll even let you swab them if you want." He smirked. "Not that it'll do any good, but it might give you a little peace of mind."

"I'm good, thanks."

Quietly, Kuroo hummed, his long fingers tapping a slow beat on his cheek, his palm pressed against the underside of his chin. "It's a long story, and you're all pretty frazzled, right? We can talk tomorrow. Oh, wait," he grabbed his hot chocolate, which he had set on the table at some point, and lifted it to his lips, "I'm fully booked tomorrow. I've got three tutorial classes to go through. Hmm..."

"One more thing," said Kunimi. "What chemicals were stolen?"

"There were several. I don't know the whole list of all of them, but... I know that _fentanyl_ was one. Probably why the professors are so adamant in keeping this under wraps and scrambling around like headless chickens..." Not giving them the opportunity to question him further, Kuroo put his cup down and stood, stretching in a way that was purely feline. "Thanks for the drink, but I think I'm gonna head out. I just wanted to check out the place before I officially move in. See ya."

"See ya." Kindaichi was the only one to return his farewell, and it was a weak one in any case. "I need a drink. Something alcoholic."

"Beers are in the fridge," Goshiki said, helpfully.

"It's one o'clock," Kunimi pointed out at the same time.

Kindaichi glared at Kunimi. "I _really_ don't need to hear this from you right now."

"Kindaichi, I—"

"Just leave it, man," Goshiki cut in, leaning back to allow Kindaichi to pass to the kitchen. "He's been through enough."

"So I'm the bad guy here?" seethed Kunimi, narrowing his eyes at the bowl-cut man.

"I didn't say that."

"All my _life_ , I've only ever wanted the best for him—" Kunimi stopped himself, blinking at Goshiki's grim face was if he were just realizing who he was talking to. "Never mind. I'm not talking about this with _you_."

Goshiki looked him in the eye. "Not even about Yahaba?"

"Why should I?" Kunimi shot back in a harsh whisper. " _You're_ the one who's so insistent about keeping secrets. You have no business asking for Yahaba's." He stood, marching toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from here."

As the door slammed shut, Kindaichi emerged from the kitchen with a half-empty bottle of beer, eyebrow cocked. "What was that about?"

Goshiki sipped his hot chocolate. "Dunno."

* * *

"Hinata-senpai!"

Hinata Shouyou whipped around, grinning when he saw a group of students heading straight for him with equally big smiles on their faces. Kageyama, in the middle of putting up a poster advertising Cafe Pezzo's wares for the upcoming 91st May Festival, gazed curiously at the interaction. He continued to stare when Hinata gave all of them high-fives and exchanged a complicated handshake with one of the guys under the mid-afternoon sun.

"We'll definitely come over!" promised one of the girls before they left, referring to Cafe Pezzo; she was waving one of their posters in the air. "See you later, senpai!"

This was not the first time Kageyama had noticed Hinata interacting in a friendly manner with fellow students. In fact, the orange-haired man seemed to be quite popular despite his short stature and his tendency to talk a lot. Patiently, Kageyama stood aside and waited for Hinata to return.

"My juniors," Hinata said by way of explanation as they put up a poster in a different spot. "We share a media and communications class together."

"Oh," Kageyama said. "My classes don't really have first or second years. Besides," he snorted, "I don't think I wanna talk to a bunch of kids anyway. What were they—eighteen? Nineteen? Babies."

Hinata stuck his tongue out at him. "Blehh! You're no fun, Bakageyama. We're only a few years older than them anyway."

"We're adults. They don't even look twenty yet. So yeah, they're babies." Kageyama gave him a look, nodding slowly. "Maybe it's a mental age thing."

"Geh! So what if I'm good with kids? Those kids aren't even kids, they're basically our age—"

"Babies. And you are, too."

"I had a little sister, remember?" Hinata reminded. "Just 'cause kids hate you doesn't mean you have to act all jealous!"

"Dumbass! I'm not _jealous_."

Hinata grumbled something which made Kageyama jab his elbow into his arm. The university was thriving around them as they walked around the campus, bags filled with flyers—most of them crinkled in some way—slung over their shoulders. Kageyama would be the first to admit that he had never really seen the place so... alive before. Until he had met Hinata, his life had been monotonous and mundane. Every day had blurred into a single sequence of repeated events—classes, homework, sleep.

Miwa was gone for good. And he knew more than anyone else in the world that it would never be the same, but...

"Hey," Kageyama said abruptly, Hinata glancing up at him. "Your sister... What was she like?"

"My sister?" Hinata hummed thoughtfully, peering up at the blue sky that blanketed the earth. "Natsu was awesome. She was always looking for new ways to laugh and have fun..." He chuckled. "It got her into trouble a lot of times, and mom would scold her for it."

"Miwa was the opposite," Kageyama shared in return. "She never liked trying new things." A beat. "Except boyfriends. Grandpa always hated her boyfriends."

Hinata guffawed. "Was she pretty?"

Kageyama gave it some thought. "She looked like a girl me," he concluded neutrally.

"So that's a yes," Hinata decided, continuing before Kageyama could even properly register his statement, "The last time I saw Natsu... She didn't look like herself. She wore too much makeup and she dyed her hair yellow."

"Oh."

"She had a boyfriend, too. I hated him. I wanted to beat him up, even if he was a head taller than me."

"You probably would've been the one beaten up," Kageyama speculated.

"Even better!" Hinata retorted. "Then I could've called the cops on him! Or—or his parents! Maybe they would've spanked him. Although," he sighed, "I probably wouldn't have thought of that back then. I... I was too naive."

Kageyama shrugged. "It's fine. I was, too."

Briefly, he wondered how different his life could've been if he hadn't persisted in solving the mystery of Miwa's disappearance. Prosecutor Chinen had informed him that Miwa had been alive for at least a year before her death, but he had never found her anyway. Maybe he would've had a peaceful school life—at that point, Tsukishima had begun to leave him alone, and he had been on shakily friendly terms with Yamaguchi.

 _If I could change my own actions back then... If I hadn't chased after her_ —

_No._

_I wouldn't have done anything different._

If this was the result of him ruining his own life, then...

Kageyama peeked a glance at Hinata's side profile, the other man's expression pensive.

He could learn to live with it.

"Ooft!" Hinata bumped into someone. "Ah, sorry."

A man around their age wearing a uniform shirt that denoted him as a member of the university's massive Undoukai Circle lifted his hand up in apology. "Ah! Sorry, my bad!"

The interaction barely lasted five seconds.

Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou went on their way, and so did Goshiki Tsutomu.

* * *

Kindaichi panted, trying to slow his breathing as he came to a stop under a flickering street lamp, placing one hand against its metal body to steady himself. He wore a terrible scowl on his face, one that spooked passing students—they gave him a wide berth as they walked past, hurrying their stride. His back arched as he stretched, wincing slightly when he felt just how taut and stiff his shoulders were from years of relative stagnancy. In his second last year of university—just two years before he would take the National Bar Exam—he had little time to exercise.

Deciding to rest, he couldn't help but think back to his afternoon—to recall the moment Yahaba's mother had clutched the collars her fur coat— _who wears a fur coat in the middle of spring?_ —tighter to her chest when the three of them marched down in silence, carrying Yahaba's things—hastily packed into cardboard boxes—down the stairs that led to the lobby. Yahaba's father hadn't left the car to help his wife move their son's things into the back.

She had thanked them for helping her, then the couple had driven off.

Kindaichi didn't know where to. Perhaps back home, back to Sendai.

"Will they be okay?" Kindaichi had asked.

"Who knows?" Kunimi had simply said in return.

 _Kunimi..._ Kindaichi took a deep breath, his lungs stinging. He could feel each thud of his heart, pounding rapidly in his chest. _Why did you hide this from me? Because you wanted to protect me? What kinda bullshit reason is that?_ He eased into a slow jog, kicking a stone on the path. His foot missed it once, and he glanced back regretfully at the pebble had had left behind before continuing to move forward. _I'm a grown man._ There was another pebble; he sent it flying with the toe of his sneaker. _I don't need to be 'protected'._ Kindaichi's stomach flipped. Kunimi... wasn't a liar. Sure, he could be annoyingly devious and he was a huge smartass, but he wasn't a liar if he could help it. Especially not to him, his best friend. _Is that really true, though?_ His thighs ached but he kept going. Kunimi had hid Yahaba's decline right under his nose. Wouldn't have said a word of it if the outcome had not been Yahaba being sent to some _mental asylum_.

If Kunimi had kept this from him—

_What else hasn't he told me?_

His head was starting to hurt again, but it was probably from running on this cold evening.

In his pocket, Kindaichi's phone buzzed, and he nearly tripped over his own feet before halting again to fish it out of the front pocket of his hoodie. "Yeah," he said breathlessly, putting the caller on speaker without checking the name, "Who is it?"

There was a pause on the other end before a reply came. _"He's awake."_

"Huh? Sakusa?" Hastily, Kindaichi switched off from speakerphone, pressing his device against his ear. Sakusa _never_ called. _Never_. "Who's awake? Is it Miya—?"

 _"Miya Atsumu, yes."_ For some reason, it sounded like Sakusa was in some sort of hurry. Kindaichi didn't reply, listening for whatever he would say next. _"His recovery was quick enough that the doctors decided to take him out of his coma early. I've been told he's fading in and out a lot, and the doctors haven't approved the police to question him yet, but... I've emailed you a list of suspects from the show. I'm investigating it right now, but it would be good if you had a look at it, too."_

"Of course," Kindaichi immediately agreed. "I'm outside right now, but I'll head home—"

_"Wait. One more thing."_

Even though Sakusa couldn't see him, Kindaichi pursed his lips in anticipation. "What is it?"

_"... Iwaizumi..."_

_Iwaizumi?_ Kindaichi's gut clenched. "I-I see. What about him?"

 _"I can't be sure what he can tell us, but it's worth speaking to him,"_ Sakusa stated. _"Thanks to the Owl-face, it's unlikely I'll be able to see him without facing any consequences. Kindaichi, I need you to visit him. Whatever you choose to ask him... I'll leave to your discretion."_

"W-wait! I don't even know what sort of stuff to ask. Maybe I'll check out the library before that—"

_"Tch. So by-the-book. That's the problem with you youngsters nowadays."_

Kindaichi deadpanned into the night. "You say that like you're not my age."

He dodged the jab. _"It's not bad to have some sort of reference, but you need to learn how to trust yourself. So, will you do it or not?"_

His throat felt dry. "I..."

Their faces flashed in his mind.

Iwaizumi always had some sort of encouragement ready for his juniors, and it had always showed through his smile.

Naoko wasn't a friendly person, but she was not—by any means—a _mean_ person.

_"In all these six years... Have you ever visited him?"_

_"No. I haven't."_

_"I thought so. Coward."_

_And Oikawa..._

"Of course I'll do it," Kindaichi answered, a steely edge to his tone. "Don't worry about me, Sakusa. I can do it."

* * *

Sakusa ended the call, his hand falling slowly to his side. He turned to the woman standing beside him with her arms crossed—the doctor in charge of Atsumu. The lab coat he usually saw her in had disappeared, replaced by a simple navy jacket. Her hair was down, too, but from the way it puffed outward slightly, she had probably taken her hair tie out not very long ago. Her shift was over—she would be leaving the hospital soon. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Dr. Makoshima Naoko said, rolling her shoulder so that the strap of her handbag wouldn't slide any further down her arm. "He was asking for you. And... I trust you. You have a good head on your shoulders, Sakusa-san." She was holding a cube box of something in her hands. Noticing his eyes flick to the box more than once, she told him, "It's from a small cake store in Sendai. It's not sold anywhere else."

"I see. And you commute all the way there just to buy it?"

"Whenever I'm free." She looked away. "I have a friend who loves it. You have five minutes before a nurse comes in and screams at you. Goodnight, Sakusa-san."

When she was gone, Sakusa moved so that he stood in front of the door, hesitant for whatever reason. Then he pushed down on the handle, and the door clicked open, swinging inside with a barely audible creak.

Any words he may have had never made it out of his mouth as he stilled.

Miya Atsumu was sitting up in his bed, facing away from the entrance. The curtains had been drawn back, giving them both a view of the city. Everything had been lit up, and Sakusa could vaguely make out the silhouettes of office workers moving about in the adjacent building.

Then Atsumu turned to him, blinking. "... It's you."

A chilly breeze blew through the room—the window was open. Sakusa made to close it.

"Why didja save me?"

Sakusa paused. "There are," he said in the end, "A lot of reasons why."

"Hah..." Atsumu chuckled weakly, leaning back against his pillow. "I can't imagine."

The window slid closed. "Then why did you ask for me?"

"Ya came here every day, right? I could hear ya talkin' sometimes. You and some other guys. Sometimes they weren't there, though. But you always were. Guess I just wanted ta match a face to the person." Atsumu grinned. "I'm not disappointed."

Sakusa lowered his brow. "I'll cut to the chase, Miya-san—"

"Just Atsumu."

"Atsumu-san. There are a lot of things I need to ask you. It's late now, though. I'll probably come back tomorrow with questions."

Atsumu hummed. "Pretty uptight, aren'tcha? Well," he pulled his blanket over his head, "I'll see ya tomorrow, then."

Letting out a noncommittal grunt, Sakusa whipped around on his heel and and headed for the door. For a man who—he had little doubt—had just woken up from a ten-day medically induced coma, he smiled too much for it to be real. The false lightness he had surrounded himself in was thin at best, and Sakusa continued to stand outside of the room, ignoring the looks he got from a passing nurse.

Then he heard it.

A stifled sob.

In his weariness, Sakusa faltered, and he slumped against the cold material of the door.

* * *

"Hello," Naoko greeted softly, setting down the slice of cake in front of him. It had been moved from the box to a small plastic plate for precautions. Iwaizumi, having buried his head in his arms, looked up. "How are you, Hajime?"

"Naoko," Iwaizumi's lips twitched as he tried to smile, "Sendai's an hour away, you know. You don't have to get me this every time. You already visited yesterday."

Two days a week. Prisoners were allowed to have face-to-face visits two days a week.

"Of course I do," she refuted, using the small spoon she had been given by a guard at the front to dig into the cake. "All you get to eat here is rice, beans, and miso soup."

"We get boiled meat once a month," he offered, wincing slightly under her glare. "Sorry. Thanks for the food, Nacchan." At the nickname, she shifted uncomfortably, and it was only then he realized his mistake. "Shit. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. It's just... It's been a long time since anyone called me that."

Since _he_ had called her that.

Neither of them speaking a word, Naoko lifted the spoon to his mouth. His hands were bound in front of him—they always were. It was up to her to feed him the treat that she always brought with her. Not a single sound was uttered even when she brushed frosting away from his upper lip. Until she leaned back and—

"Even after all these years, you still can't grow facial hair."

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "Really?"

"Sorry." Naoko laughed. "I just couldn't help but notice."

The cold was truly stifling, but she wanted to enjoy her time with him. She fed him slowly, knowing that he would rather savor the delectable cake than eat it all at once. He was different from her that way—he wasn't like her, who needed to eat everything at once and experience multiple flavors dancing on her tongue. Naoko drew out her thermos, turning in her seat to one of the prison guards watching over them. "Excuse me. Can I get a cup please?"

The guard stared at her—perhaps surprised at her boldness—before nodding curtly. He came back soon with a plastic cup—one with a rounded rim.

Naoko began to pour the warm water in the cup, carefully.

And Iwaizumi asked, "Are you happy, Naoko?"

"No," she replied honestly, not looking up from the stream of steaming liquid rushing into the cup. "But I'm... content."

"It's not the same."

"I know, Hajime." Once she was done, she held the cup to his lips. He drank. "I don't know how you can expect me to be happy, though. But don't worry about me. Worry about yourself first."

"I'm done with that," Iwaizumi told her. "I'll be old before I get out. And I've come to terms with that already. But you have a life to live, Naoko. You can still be happy."

Her grip around her thermos tightened. " _Don't_. Come to terms with it... How can you do that? You're _innocent_ , Hajime. You—you shouldn't even _be_ here. You don't _have_ to be here."

Iwaizumi's gaze dropped. "But I am. And," he glanced up at her with tired eyes, "nothing you can say is gonna change that."

It took all of her restraint to not launch her water bottle at the brick wall with all her strength and simply _scream_. "Has he come yet?"

"Who?"

Her heart sunk. "Never mind." It'd only been a day since she had crossed paths with him, but... "Maybe I was hoping for too much."

The rest of the visit passed peacefully. Soon, it was time for Naoko to leave. The guards escorted her out, and a female guard did a mandatory full-body frisk on her before letting her leave.

"He doesn't deserve you, you know."

Naoko whipped around to see a young guard—one she had never seen before. He had probably just started working here. "Excuse me?"

"You know he killed someone, right? You don't need to be kind to him—"

"Don't you ever _dare_ ," she cut him off, her voice dangerously icy, "insinuate that he deserves to be treated with _anything_ other than kindness and compassion, you filthy _pig_."

Affronted, it showed on his face. But she didn't deign to give him any more of her time, instead stalking off into the night.

Iwaizumi Hajime was an innocent man. This, she believed with every fiber of her being, not a single doubt in her mind.

And soon, she prayed, the world would finally realize this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hath returned. My assignments are finished, which means I got time to write in-between work and exam prep :P
> 
> And during the time I was away from writing, HQ ended... Like, ow. My heart.
> 
> But! I've reached 3k views on AO3, and I celebrated (and coped) by making another soundtrack fuhahaha
> 
> Here it is:
> 
> [shard society ost 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciy3BMIqK4o)
> 
> It's the theme of Tsuji Runa (and Yahaba and Kyoutani to some extent). As always, it's on my IG @_yangri as well.  
> Not my best chapter I don't think, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway!!
> 
> Comments and reviews are always appreciated!!


	22. Hang the Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi Hajime is an innocent man.

_I knew then I wasn't young anymore, but I still didn't understand. I don't think I wanted to._

* * *

**May 7th, 2018**

If there was anything Iwaizumi Hajime had to say about prison, it would be that everything seemed to resolve around a rigid sets of rules. Every day, he would repeat the same activities—it rarely changed. He, along with his five other inmates, would wake up at six-thirty in the morning to stow their bedding away and freshen up. There would usually be a prison guard watching them do their business through eye gap in the wrought-iron door. It was invasive, but Iwaizumi was used to it—he lived with five other men, after all, and there wasn't any such thing as privacy in such small confines. His cheeks would not grow red from an extra pair of eyes, no matter how evil or perverted they were.

At least he had that meager shred of dignity left. It was the least he owed himself.

Because Iwaizumi Hajime was an innocent man.

For the past two years, Iwaizumi had spent them mostly thinking. About anything and nothing at all—it was all there was left for him to do during the quiet hours in this place.

"Excuse me," said a man with a shaved head as he jostled past Iwaizumi. Without warning, though, Iwaizumi's arm struck out and he yanked his fellow prisoner back by the collar of his shirt.

"Oi," he reprimanded, "You're constipated, aren't you? You're going last, _Hiroomi_."

Hiroomi—a stooped, pathetic, rat-like creature of a man—sneered at Iwaizumi, displaying his large front teeth for them all to see. But he did not argue—the eyes of all five of his inmates were staring at him with little sympathy. "Fuck. It's the beans, man."

"It's always the beans," another man, Aratama, affirmed nonchalantly. He had high cheekbones that made his face look sallow, and his eyes were sunken in. Iwaizumi didn't look much better. As if Hiroomi were a mere child, Aratama brushed him aside to use the sink. It took him maybe ten or so seconds to splash his face and towel off, the rest forming a single file line behind him.

In a way, it represented their social order. Aratama, the cell's de facto leader, was up first, followed by Banzai, Iwaizumi, Fuchigami, Ueshiba, and—finally—Hiroomi.

"Ah, geez," Fuchigami fanned himself with his hand affectedly before covering his mouth, which was agape in a yawn, "I hate these early mornings..."

Out of all of them, Fuchigami was probably the best-looking. He was feminine by appearance, and had garnered a lot of attention from inmates and guards alike in the past. He was a troublesome one—he'd been moved around many cells for the past few months, in for a triple homicide.

Ueshiba said nothing. He couldn't, because he had no tongue.

Iwaizumi had discovered this last year, when he saw Ueshiba eat for the first time.

Once they were all relatively clean, roll call was taken, then it was off to breakfast after a mandatory room inspection for contraband.

Iwaizumi, holding a tray of miso soup, beans, and rice, sat down at his cell-assigned table. Aratama and Ueshiba sat on either side of him, while Banzai, Fuchigami, and Hiroomi sat opposite the former three. Breakfast was eaten in silence. It was the norm—conversation was not allowed, and the cafeteria was heavily monitored by prison guards and security cameras alike.

"Three-hundred and four," Iwaizumi droned anyway, under his breath. He had noticed Ueshiba tapping his index finger on the handle of his spoon. "There are three-hundred and four grains of rice on your tray, Ueshiba-san."

Instantly, Ueshiba relaxed. Then he began to shovel food into his mouth at breakneck speeds.

 _Shit,_ Iwaizumi noticed a guard coming their way in his peripheral, _This is gonna end badly..._

"Hey!" the guard barked, slapping Ueshiba upside the head with one calloused hand. "Eat properly! Stop slobbering like an animal!"

Iwaizumi's grip around his spoon tightened.

Ueshiba whimpered, and the guard reached for his baton. Iwaizumi stiffened when he felt Aratama reach behind him and push Ueshiba's forehead into the table.

"Sorry," Aratama said to the officer, his voice deep and controlled. "He is deeply sorry for his filth."

The guard glared at Aratama. Iwaizumi had paused in his eating, though he didn't dare make eye contact with either of the two men. Finally, in what seemed like an age, the guard relented. "Make sure he cleans up after himself. Tch. Disgusting."

The day dragged on.

Their cell was working in the gardens today. The prison prided themselves for being self-sustaining—they grew a number of fruits and vegetables that served as the prisoners' food supply. Rice and packets of instant miso soup were ordered in from outside, though Iwaizumi had heard that the Chief Warden enjoyed bragging that—if there was more space—he would make them earn their own rice as well.

After long hours working under the sun to plant some potatoes, Iwaizumi straightened and wiped sweat off his brow with the back of one hand. There wasn't much to it, but the afternoons were probably his favorite time of the day. His lower back ached from hunching over so much, and his calves throbbed from squatting every five minutes to pack dirt around the seedlings or fish out more seedlings from the dirt crate.

Sometimes he would think to himself a fleeting opinion.

_This isn't so bad._

Somebody howled in pain.

Iwaizumi turned, expression hardening as he saw Hiroomi being dragged off by two prison officers. They threw him onto the ground and began to beat him with their batons, other prisoners moving aside and largely ignoring the incident.

He was not fond of Hiroomi. He didn't think anyone in their cell was.

_But this is wrong._

"Who are you to think that?"

Iwaizumi nearly flinched. _Fuck. I said that aloud._

"Ohoho, you almost sounded like a good guy back there," Fuchigami laughed airily. "I've never met a man like you before, Hajime-kun. If I didn't know any better," he gazed at him with hooded eyes, "I'd say that you're an innocent man. But we're all in here for a reason, now, aren't we?"

"Tch." Sometimes, Fuchigami reminded him too much of _someone else_. "Shut up, you piece of shit." _No. He's not anything like him at_ all _._

"Now, now, there's no need to be judgmental. Can't we just talk—murderer to murderer?"

If Iwaizumi had less self-control, he would've made himself a murderer right there. "That's not all you did. You're fucking sick in the head."

"Why?" Fuchigami blinked, then looked down at one of the colored badges sewn onto his uniform—one that Iwaizumi didn't have. "Because I raped those men?"

Iwaizumi shoved his shovel into the dirt, digging out the next hole for the seedlings and pretending Fuchigami hadn't spoken at all. He picked up the pace, eventually putting a rather noticeable distance between Fuchigami and himself; the rapist moved languidly in his potato planting.

Instead, he found himself in close proximity to Banzai. Like Hiroomi, his head was also close-shaven. Iwaizumi's own head had been shaven in the past, though it was starting to grow out now. Soon, he figured, the guards would shave it again. Out of all of them, Banzai had the most bulk, his biceps out-sizing Iwaizumi's and Aratama's with effortless ease. Because of this, not many of the prison wardens dared to pick on him too often.

Together, the two worked in silence.

Iwaizumi was glad for this.

He knew Banzai had dismembered his corpses before pissing on them.

Lunch passed by all too quickly, then it was to the woodwork garage for Iwaizumi and his cellmates. Like he had done so many times before, Iwaizumi set up his workstation and flicked on the rotating circular saw. He no longer grimaced at the sight of it—of the blades that could cut through bone.

He did, however, wonder how many people had successfully killed themselves here. For many, working in the garage was a golden opportunity. Unfortunately (or fortunately; Iwaizumi had no idea at this point) for them, prisoners on suicide watch were never let inside here.

A small sigh of relief escaped his chapped lips. At least in here, he didn't have the hot sun beating down on him.

"What are you waiting for?!" a guard yelled, starting to approach him. He must have noticed his brief loitering. The guards were always seeking to punish them in some way. "Get to work!"

"Yessir," Iwaizumi replied monotonously, keeping his head low. Thick, ropy muscle pulsed outward against the skin of his upper arms as he began to cut the wood, careful not to lose a finger to the spinning saw.

At some point, Hiroomi had rejoined them. He worked stiffly, as if bruising on his limbs was keeping him from working at maximum efficiency.

A morbid side of Iwaizumi imagined him falling face first into the saw.

As five o'clock in the evening approached, work slowed to a steady stop. The prisoners were rounded up and escorted back to their cells. They had maybe ten or fifteen minutes to themselves before a second room inspection and _reflection time_.

Iwaizumi's whole body ached, but he didn't complain as he settled on the tatami mats with his legs stretched out. None of them did—not even Hiroomi, who was prone to being more outspoken about the workings of the prison.

"Good job today, everyone," Aratama congratulated. "You all worked hard."

Banzai grunted, while Iwaizumi simply nodded, not finding the need for verbal response.

"Aww~!" gushed Fuchigami, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're so cute when you try to act all _tsundere_."

"You don't have to ruin everything, you know," snapped Hiroomi, edging away from Fuchigami.

Fuchigami shrugged. "I know my boundaries. Certainly more than _you_ do." Ignoring Hiroomi's choice words at his remark, he continued, "A little boost in the morale around here wouldn't hurt anyone. I know we're all bad guys who did bad things—I mean, I'm on _death row_ with everyone's favorite Banzai—but come _on_."

 _This coming from the only murdering rapist in the room..._ Iwaizumi glared tiredly at the wall, trying to tune out the conversation. He didn't _need_ to hear this. These words weren't _meant_ for him.

 _"You're_ innocent _, Hajime. You—you shouldn't even_ be _here. You don't_ have _to be here."_

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders sagging from an invisible, crushing weight.

Ten minutes and a room inspection passed. Hiroomi was scolded by the warden for a crinkle in his bedroll.

A blink of an eye later, Iwaizumi was kneeling in seiza—handcuffed and gagged—in a small rectangular room with no one to chatter into his ear about aliens and volleyball. He simply sat and stared into the never-ending darkness. If he tried to move even an inch to either side of him, he would find his shoulder meeting the wall.

Reflection time. For twenty minutes, he would be here for the purpose of reflecting upon his sins.

The only time where he would be utterly alone with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him.

He trembled.

_"Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan, don't ignore me!"_

_"Iwa-chan, wanna go get ramen?"_

_"Iwa-chan! We won!"_

_"Hey, Iwa-chan... I... Never mind."_

_"I love you, Iwa-ch_ _—_ Hajime _._ _"_

_"... we find the defendant, Iwaizumi Hajime, guilty for the murder of Oikawa Tooru."_

_"Son, I believe in you."_

Taking a deep breath, Iwaizumi buried his face into his hands and gritted his teeth until his jaw ached.

* * *

**January 2nd, 2013**

Two weeks had passed.

Fourteen days since he had been placed into this hellhole. They said they would move him, someday, to a more secure prison in Tokyo.

One of his eyes swollen black and blue, Iwaizumi lay on the grimy floor, his cheek pressed against the floorboards. It was a room which they used for solitary confinement.

He had made the mistake of asking for seconds during breakfast, and his unwilling penance printed on his skin as bruises ranging from grey to purple.

 _Someone, please..._ A single tear slipped from between his swollen eyelid. _Help me..._

The door slid open. Strong arms picked him up.

"Come on," said a gruff voice. "Your _parents_ are here to see you. Get cleaned up."

 _My parents?_ Hope bloomed in his chest. He hadn't seen his parents since the trial. The guards sprayed him down with cold water, and he was dressed in a fresh prison uniform. It was a bit big for him—he had lost a considerable amount of weight since his entry into the prison system. Already, he had had his food intake reduced for a week as punishment.

They put him in a small room with his hands bound and sat him down at a table with his parents sitting opposite him. His mother appeared positively haggard, and his father was looking no better, though the latter still managed a smile.

"Hajime," his father, Yoichi, breathed, as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. " _Son_."

Iwaizumi swallowed a lump in his throat, his bottom lip trembling. "Mom. _Dad_." His voice came out hoarse—he hadn't spoken in _days_. Hadn't had anyone to speak _to_.

"Are you alright?" asked Yoichi, standing and reaching out to clutch Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Your eye...!" Before his father's touch could reach him, however, one of the guards intervened.

"Please refrain from touching the prisoner."

Yoichi whirled around in his chair to glare at the guard who had spoken. "He's my _son_!"

"There are safety precautions, sir. If you do not abide by them, we will have to ask you to leave."

"Tch!" Yoichi clenched his fists as he sat back down. "I can't believe this...!" He turned to look at his wife, Futaba. "Dear, why aren't you saying anything?"

Futaba, who had been gazing emptily at the table edge, didn't bother looking up. "What is there to say?"

Yoichi's face fell. "Futaba!"

"What do you want me to say?" Futaba said lowly. "That you were beaten up by a group of high school students for revenge? That our house was egged? That Satoshi is being bullied at school? That I can't even set foot into any of the stores anymore? What do you want me to say, Yoichi?!"

"What?" blurted Iwaizumi.

"How could you do this to us, Hajime?!" Futaba cried, finally looking up at her son with tears in her eyes. "You've made us pariahs! We're getting _death threats_! We don't even have a car anymore because someone set it on fire!"

"Futaba, that's enough!" bellowed Yoichi, slamming his hands on the table. "I shouldn't have asked you to say anything at all!"

"Dad, is this true?" Iwaizumi's voice grew small.

"I...!" Yoichi faltered. "We're fine, son. It's nothing you have to worry about—"

"I said _is it true?!_ "

"None of it is your fault!"

Futaba stood, her chair screeching back. "I can't listen to this anymore. I'm sorry, Hajime. But... I can't do this anymore." She hiccuped, bringing her hands to her face. "I've never wanted to die more in my life...!"

"Mom—"

"My son is not a _murderer_!"

With that, Futaba turned in her heel and made for the door, Yoichi staring after her helplessly.

"Wait, mom!" Iwaizumi screamed, standing and hissing in pain when powerful sets of hands pushed him back into his seat. Days of solitary came crashing down on him, and he openly cried as he called after the woman who had birthed him. "MOM! MOM, I DIDN'T DO IT! PLEASE...! PLEASE COME BACK!"

"Don't touch him!" Yoichi shouted at the wardens. "Son, listen to me. Listen to me, _please_."

But Iwaizumi shook his head, continuing to scream for his mother, his face growing unbearably red and hot.

Ignoring the roaring of the guards, Yoichi grabbed his son and squeezed him tightly.

Iwaizumi choked on a sob. "Dad...!"

"Son, I believe in you."

The guards wrenched Yoichi off him. "GET OFF HIM!"

They blacklisted his father after that.

He knew then he wasn't young anymore, but he still didn't understand.

He didn't think he wanted to.

Because Iwaizumi Hajime was an innocent man.

* * *

**May 7th, 2018**

When they all converged in the cafeteria for dinner, Iwaizumi pretended not to notice how all of them except Fuchigami were visibly shaken. They said not a word of it either, just sat down and ate without the same sense of order and organization they had had this morning.

It was not unusual.

Dinner was uneventful, and Iwaizumi was standing up with the rest of his cellmates when he was approached by a guard. "Iwaizumi Hajime? You have a visitor."

"What?" Iwaizumi eyes rounded slightly. "A visitor...?"

"Come with us."

"Lucky bastard," Hiroomi growled before he was shooed away.

 _It can't be an in-person one,_ Iwaizumi determined as he was led down the halls. _I already had two with Naoko. So who...?_

They pushed him into a tiny detention cell—hands unbound—with a window tempered glass separating the room from another one and a phone for communication. Cautiously, Iwaizumi approached the window, taking a seat at the table connected to the wall.

At first, he thought he was looking into a mirror. But then his reflection didn't blink back and—

Sitting opposite Iwaizumi, Kindaichi swallowed a lump in his throat and held his communication phone to one ear. Unable to quite believe what he was seeing, Iwaizumi lifted his own phone to his ear.

"H-hi," Kindaichi stammered, his voice loud and clear after the initial crackle.

Whatever Iwaizumi was about to say next came out as a choked sob, one hand clamping over the receiver. "H-hey. It's," his voice trembled, "Kindaichi, right? You... You're Kindaichi Yuutarou."

"Yeah. Um, I..." Kindaichi chewed the inside of his cheek. "Sorry. I didn't really plan this far ahead." Groaning, he palmed his forehead. "Fuck..."

Iwaizumi softened as he watched his junior grow pink in embarrassment. Even after all these years, Kindaichi was still the same at his core. It was both comforting, and something that threatened to rip him apart from the inside out.

He was so tall now. Iwaizumi could tell that even with Kindaichi sitting down. Not that Kindaichi had been short before, but he was certain that—if they were to stand together now—he would probably kick the legs out from under him for being an obnoxious skyscraper.

"Take your time," Iwaizumi reassured him, a _senpai sense_ that he thought he had buried deep inside himself long ago resurfacing with such strength that Iwaizumi felt his knees weaken.

"You..." he trailed off.

"I look like shit, right?"

"No!" Kindaichi blurted. "I wasn't thinking that at all—"

"Haha!" Iwaizumi grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. "I'm just messin' with ya. You haven't changed a bit, Kindaichi. Honestly, it kinda relieves me."

At that, Kindaichi practically wilted. "How can you still smile here?"

"I haven't smiled like this in a while," he admitted.

Kindaichi seemed to realize the implication. "Oh."

He could almost hear his thoughts.

_It's because I'm here._

"I won't lie," Iwaizumi went on, this time more cautiously, "I'm surprised to see you. I... I didn't think I'd ever see you again. Oh—nice haircut, by the way."

"Thanks." Kindaichi sighed, absently running his fingers through his hair. The sides were starting to grow out again. If he wanted to maintain the undercut, he would probably visit a salon soon. "Until recently, I didn't think I'd be seeing you either..."

Iwaizumi tilted his head slightly. "Then why now?"

Appearing deeply troubled, Kindaichi leaned forward on his side of the desk, his fingers woven together. "It's... It's about Oikawa. O-or more specifically, the man that... killed him. He may have killed somebody else, and... I need to talk to you about Oikawa and what happened in the past." Kindaichi put his bag on his lap and fumbled through the insides for a good minute before pulling out a crinkled sheet of paper. From where he was sitting, Iwaizumi could spot his handwritten notes. "Is that okay?"

"Go for it." He had told his story many times before. To the prosecutor, the police, his lawyer... _It won't make a difference. Not even Sakusa Junji could've helped me that day._

Kindaichi inhaled before starting. "Where were you on the night of Oikawa's death?"

He nearly choked on the last word but Iwaizumi chose to pretend he hadn't heard the stumble. "I was at home," replied Iwaizumi. "Doing my physics homework. But," his jaw clenched, "It was just me in the house that night. Mom and dad had gone out on a date night, and Satoshi was sleeping over at his friend's house." He waited for Kindaichi to hastily pull an A4 notepad out of his bag before continuing. "Kunimi called me at around ten o'clock but I didn't pick up." _If I had, maybe I wouldn't be in this mess..._ He shook the thought away. There was nothing he could do about it now—the chance for an alibi had slipped from his fingers a long time ago.

"Wait, what?" Kindaichi, who had been noting down Iwaizumi's answers, peered up, his mouth agape. " _Kunimi_ called you?"

"Yeah?" Iwaizumi arched a brow.

Again, Kindaichi lifted something out of his bag. A manila folder of some sort. He flipped through it, growing increasingly frantic with each turn of a page. "There's no mention of his anywhere."

"It wasn't relevant information, so it wasn't brought up in court," explained Iwaizumi. "The police spoke to Kunimi, but he had an alibi. Neighbour's surveillance camera caught him out on the street taking out the trash around the time of Oikawa's death, I think." A pause. "I thought you would've known."

"Yeah," muttered Kindaichi, "I thought so, too. Uh—any idea what the call was about?"

"No. Like I said, I didn't pick up. He didn't leave a message or anything either."

"A random call, out of the blue..." Kindaichi's pen whipped across the paper as he frowned.

"Maybe he just needed help with homework or something," Iwaizumi suggested.

But Kindaichi dismissed the idea immediately. "No way. Kunimi never needed help with that kinda stuff. He never studied for anything but always scored within the top ten."

"Smart bastard."

They moved onto the next question. "Uh," Kindaichi stumbled through the question, "The days leading up to his death... Did anything unusual happen? Anything between you and Oikawa, maybe?"

_"Iwa-chan, not now."_

_"Iwa-chan, look, I'm sorry, but... I just need to take care of something first."_

_"He needs my help, Iwa-chan."_

"... Yeah," Iwaizumi answered slowly. "He was acting weird. Avoiding me. Always on his phone. Texting someone," he rectified, "He was always texting someone. I don't know who, though. But he made it seem like he was helping this guy. Toor— _Oikawa's_ phone was never found, was it?"

"No," confirmed Kindaichi. "The killer still has it. That, or he destroyed it."

"Tch." Iwaizumi scowled. "Of course he did..."

"So he was avoiding you," Kindaichi said, reading over the notes he had made. "For this someone—let's call him Yamada—who was in some kind of trouble. Um... What did you do about it?"

"We fought a lot, actually. It went on for two weeks. I..." Iwaizumi hesitated. "I was hurt. Because... I loved him."

"Oh," Kindaichi said, softly. _"Oh."_

Grunting, Iwaizumi crossed his arms. "You're okay with that?"

"Yeah. Did you think I wouldn't be?"

"I don't know what to expect from people anymore," Iwaizumi confessed. "But not long after we made our feelings clear to each other, he started... obsessing over Yamada. The last time I saw him, he said that he was going to fix some 'past wrong that needed to be righted'. He left practice early that day, around six o'clock. We didn't leave until seven."

"I remember," murmured Kindaichi. "I think. Sorry, I... Go on."

"I got home at around seven-thirty. Dad left a note on the fridge that said he took mom out for a date."

Kindaichi perked up. "Hang on. Did it have, like, a timestamp or anything?"

"Huh. It _did_ , actually." Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes, trying to remember what the time his dad had scribbled on the note had been. "It was... six-thirty, I think. So they left the house in the early evening."

"So there was no one in the house for an hour!" crowed Kindaichi, as if he had discovered something amazing. "The, um," he shuffled through the manila folder's contents, "The kitchen knife with your prints on it... Maybe they took it from your house!"

"Not possible," Iwaizumi refuted. "The back door and front door were locked. The knife didn't belong to me anyway. I saw the murder weapon—it _didn't_ come from my kitchen."

Kindaichi sunk into his seat, the wind taken from his sails. "Ah. Dammit, I thought I was onto something..."

"It's fine," Iwaizumi placated him, "But... I don't think you're going to find anything new."

"I have to try." He took out more things from his bag—this time they were bromides. Kindaichi held up two of them. "Do you recognize them?"

Iwaizumi squinted at the photos—they were of two women. Then he shook his head. "Who are they?"

"Their names are Takagi Chiasa and Kageyama Miwa. They worked on the KidProdigy set during 2008. The same show that Oikawa was on."

 _Kageyama? Huh._ "Yeah, I remember that show. I didn't really have anything to do with it, though—that was all Oikawa and his stupid impulsiveness. Sometimes I waited outside the set for him, but that's it."

More photos were shown. Photos of 'Hanae Ichika', 'Hanae Miyo', and 'Miya Akari'. None of them rang any bells for him. In the end, he recognized only four people—Oikawa's mother, Director Shō Shinya, and a pair of twins: Miya Osamu and Miya Atsumu.

"I walked past them a few times," Iwaizumi told Kindaichi, referring to the twins. "I didn't really talk to them. Same goes for the director." Listlessly, he shrugged. "Sorry. Ah wait." His scowl deepened. "The blond twin. He was an _asshole_."

Kindaichi turned the photo of Miya Atsumu around to he was looking at it. "Huh. Noted."

"I watched him on TV, too. He was an even bigger asshole on camera, surprisingly. Most people tend to be bastards when they aren't rolling."

For the next ten minutes, Kindaichi went over everything again, wanting to get all the details in order. Iwaizumi remained patient with him, even when he repeated questions he had asked only moments ago.

From Kindaichi's side of the room, a guard came in and informed them that they had seven minutes left to talk.

"Sorry," Kindaichi apologized for the umpteenth time before asking again, "In the time leading up to Oikawa's death, nothing else happened between you and him fighting? Like—did anything that doesn't usually happen occur?"

"Well..." Iwaizumi hunched over on his table, a crease in his brow. _Something other than me and Oikawa fighting?_ In those days, it had been all that consumed him. He hadn't really paid much attention to anything else. _Wait._ "Actually, yeah. It's not really anything weird, though."

"Tell me anyway," Kindaichi insisted.

"Ah..." Iwaizumi rested his cheek on his palm, the slightest moue on his mien. "I got a confessed to. It's kind of a blur, honestly. I remember she looked like a princess, though... If that makes sense. She gave me something, too. It was, uh, a pig? I think?" He wracked his brain for the memory. "A clay pig that she had made in her art class, I think... She didn't go to Seijoh either. No, in fact..." He sat up straighter. "She was wearing a Karasuno uniform."

"Huh?! Karasuno...?! W-wait!"

"Hm?"

Kindaichi's eyes moved back and forth as he hurriedly read through his notes once more. "She looked like a princess and she went to Karasuno... Am I just overthinking this...?!"

_What's he talking about?_

"If..." Kindaichi held a bromide in his hand, though it wasn't facing Iwaizumi. "If you had to assign an animal to her face... What would it be?"

Iwaizumi deadpanned. "I barely remember what she looks like."

"Just try, please!"

"Um... Maybe a bird...?"

Kindaichi flipped the bromide around. "Is this her?"

A woman dressed smartly stared back at him with cold, unrelenting eyes that reminded him of a raptor. Her nose had a certain slant to it—one that made her look like incredibly bird-like. _Owl-like_ , Iwaizumi thought. "It is. Who is she?"

"Hirakawa Noriko. She's the current Prosecutor-General of Japan." Kindaichi turned the photo back around, blinking at it as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "The Prosecutor-General confessed to you? I... I don't get this... Ah, wait! Where's the pig? Do you know where it went?"

"I think I put it on my desk. I lost it pretty quick, though." If he thought hard enough, he could still see his room—the curtains flowing outward as a gentle breeze blew through the open window above his study table during the spring.

Kindaichi noted it down.

"Anything else?"

Silence stretched between them, Kindaichi considering it.

"I have one more question," he said quietly. "Do you hate me?"

Iwaizumi frowned. "Of course not. Why?"

"Why don't you?" Frustration seeped into his voice. "I-I only came to you when I needed something! I didn't come to visit you _once_ ," Kindaichi looked away, his ears burning red with a deep shame, " _Ever_. So..." He peered at him desperately. "Why don't you hate me?!"

He did not answer right away. Merely frowned at the glass window that separated them as if he were deliberating his response. "... You can be so short-sighted sometimes, Kindaichi. Yeah, you could've dropped by a few times. But that doesn't matter to me. You wouldn't be here if you didn't think I was innocent. And just knowing that you believe me... That's enough for me.

"Besides," he leaned back in his chair, eyes not quite meeting Kindaichi's, "Every day, I'm surrounded by people who have nothing to hold on to but their hate and resentment. The only thing that's keeping me sane is this hellhole is the fact that I know I'm innocent. There's already too much to hate and not enough things to look forward to around here."

Kindaichi dropped his gaze to the table, the phone nearly slipping out of his hand as he processed Iwaizumi's words. "I... I see. Iwaizumi-senpai!" Iwaizumi jumped at the sudden shout coupled with the honorific. "I swear to you...!" He began to blubber, tears falling from his eyes—they looked like stars in the dimly lit room. "I'm gonna get you outta here, even if it's the last thing I do!"

"O-oi!" Iwaizumi reached his arm forward, then retracted it, as if he remembered that there was glass preventing him from laying a hand on Kindaichi—no matter how comforting it was meant to be. "Don't cry, Kindaichi..."

But if Kindaichi heard him, his words went ignored. The younger man pressed his face against his hands, his shoulders wracking as he sobbed freely. A numbness coming over him, Iwaizumi could only watch in his seat, powerless.

Soon, Kindaichi was sent away. He was still putting his things haphazardly back into his bag when he disappeared through the door. Their time together was over, and the guards marched Iwaizumi back to his cell.

_"I'm gonna get you outta here, even if it's the last thing I do!"_

Iwaizumi almost crumbled, almost felt his chest cave in from the raw emotion behind Kindaichi's promise. His throat bobbed as he rejoined his cellmates, none of them giving him much of their attention.

It was lights off at nine o'clock sharp.

_"Iwa-chan, I love you."_

_You stupid bastard._ He could feel the back of his eyes burn as he turned in his futon to face Aratama's back. _After all these years, you still find a way to hurt me even when you're already gone._

Through his blanket, he pressed his knuckles to his lips and wept without a single sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was nowhere near as emotional and heartwrenching as I intended it to be, so apologies in advance for that.
> 
> In other news, I've published a new fic called Melancholia of the Faded, and it's about Kunimi, Kindaichi, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi dealing with the aftermath of Kageyama's death.
> 
> I'll also be publishing the prologue of the second fic in this series, 'Electric Hearts!' on AO3. I'll probably work on that one at the same time as 'Shard Society: After Story', which is the direct sequel to Shard Society following the lives of some of the characters after the epilogue.
> 
> Comments and reviews are always love to me!!


	23. Trek for Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa calls a meeting, and Atsumu's tale begins.

**May 7th, 2018**

Midorima rapped his knuckles on the door before opening it, his brows furrowing ever so slightly as he saw his wife by the mirror, her old Karasuno school uniform pressed against the front of her body. He sighed, leaving the door ajar and approaching her from behind. He snaked his arms around her waist, hugging her back to his chest. "This again?"

In the mirror, Hirakawa's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I can't help it."

"You've always loved that old thing."

"You're wrong," she uttered, her hand clenching and crumpling the fabric of the blouse. "It disgusts me."

Knowing he didn't need to say anything to that, Midorima's gaze shifted to the side—to Hirakawa's work desk. There was a clay pig sitting on it, one that she had made to match with his.

"I love you, Noriko." His words echoed in the room. "Why don't we have dinner at Shibuya tonight?"

Hirakawa didn't look away from the mirror. "Sure, dear."

And then he was gone, off to freshen up in the bathroom.

Hirakawa spun in front of the mirror, watching the hem of the uniform move with her twirling.

_'I love you, Noriko'._

She tossed the uniform aside. "Tsk."

It flopped onto the carpet—how _dirty_ , how _perverted_ —and she imagined it going up in flames and burning all her sins away.

_That's what they all said, too._

* * *

"I'm home," Kindaichi murmured, shutting the door gently behind him. The shoes at the entrance-way told him that both Goshiki and Kunimi were present in the dorm. Kuroo had not yet moved in with them yet, though there were boxes of his things piled up near the front. More than one of them had a 'fragile' label.

"Welcome back!" Goshiki's voice sounded from the kitchen just as Kindaichi took a deep inhale of the delicious scent wafting around the room. "I'm making mac 'n' cheese."

"You're gonna harden all my arteries before I'm thirty!" Kindaichi called back, though saliva gathered in his mouth from the thought of cheesy pasta. He made his way to the kitchen, dropping his bag off next to his bed. He sat the kitchen island, where three plates were already set up. "Hey, 'Shiki?"

Goshiki didn't turn around, staring into the depths of the oven. "Hm?"

"What... What would you do if someone you knew a long time ago..." Kindaichi trailed off, wondering how to proceed.

A timer dinged, and Goshiki opened the oven, the smell of dinner intensifying instantaneously. "This is about your senpai, isn't it? The one who went to prison."

"How did you—?"

"Doesn't take a genius." Goshiki pulled out the tray of macaroni and cheese and set it aside for the meantime. He seated himself on the kitchen island, the bar stool dragging against the tiles. "You wanna talk about it?"

Kindaichi didn't say anything. What—truly—could he even articulate at this point? "I... I don't know. Suddenly, everything feels a lot realer than before. Well, I mean—not that it didn't before, but I was starting to get used to everything, y'know?"

"Not really," Goshiki said honestly. "But I can give you a bigger slice than Kunimi."

Kindaichi sagged. "That'd be nice. About Kunimi, though—"

"He was out of line yesterday."

 _Huh?_ "Er... I did start yelling at him first..."

But Goshiki was shaking his head. "You're an adult. Look, I get that he was probably just worried, but... Kunimi needs to lay off, man. He needs to learn that it's not his right to be privy to everyone's secrets."

"It wasn't a _secret_ ," Kindaichi retorted. "But Kunimi's always been like that, okay? He's a good friend, and he always means well."

Goshiki seemed to consider this. "If you say so." The sound of the bathroom door opening. "Speak of the devil."

Kunimi lumbered into the kitchen in a sweatshirt and shorts, a towel draped over his hair, which was still damp. "Oh, dinner's ready?"

"Get it while it's hot." Goshiki cut him a slice—one that was very obviously smaller than Kindaichi's. But if Kunimi noticed—and Kindaichi had no doubt he did—he didn't say anything.

"Let's eat," they chorused.

The former warmth that had once permeated the dorm was gone.

_Why did you call him that night?_

Grabbing his fork, Kindaichi took the first bite.

And despite Goshiki's excellence in cooking, it felt bland on his tongue.

* * *

**May 8th, 2018**

_This is going to be a disaster._ A muscle in Sakusa's cheek twitched as the final member of their meeting finally showed up, giving the people in the room a sheepish smile. _Maybe I should've been more considerate to them._

Because Naoko's face was as flat as a tabletop, Daichi seemed rather at a loss, and Okazaki was puckering her lips in her pocket mirror and frowning at her reflection every five seconds. And Kindaichi—bless his soul—was standing by the water cooler rather than sitting down at the table with the rest of them. It was only when Naoko used her foot to pull out a chair for him did Kindaichi take the hint.

"Sorry," he apologized, unable to look anywhere else except at Daichi's lukewarm cup of coffee.

 _Komori, give me strength._ "Thank you all for coming," Sakusa began, speaking through his mask. Currently, they were seated in one of the hospital's many break rooms—Naoko had scored them an empty place to consolidate.

"My break's over in fifteen minutes," Naoko reminded them, her face never changing. Nevertheless, Sakusa sensed her simmering impatience anyway.

"That's fine," replied Sakusa. "This won't take long."

"Alright, but," Naoko let out a deep sigh before turning to glare at Kindaichi, "Will you please stop staring at me?"

"Wha—I was not!"

"You were," said Daichi, sounding mildly amused. "I mean—it wasn't outright staring, but... Glances?"

"You're the woman on the train." Kindaichi seemed awed. " _You're_ a doctor?"

" _You're_ a prosecutor?" Naoko threw back.

"No, he isn't yet," Sakusa interrupted, irritation coloring his tone. "Now can we please get back to the subject at hand here?" He heard Okazaki's makeup mirror snapping shut, and it was then he knew that she was probably having the time of her life. For whatever reason, Kindaichi preened under his words, perking up immediately. Then his face became serious, mirroring Naoko's. "Doctor," he addressed the black-haired woman, "How many more days can you keep Chinen-san and her investigation team away?"

Naoko hummed. "Two, and even that's a push. You're protecting a murder suspect, Sakusa-san."

"I am aware," he said, dryly. "I'll be questioning him later today, if you'll allow me."

"Fine. But if you stress him out, I'm going to boot you."

It was as much as he expected from her. "Sawamura," the inspector was next, and he sat up slightly at the sound of his name, "Has anything changed in Chinen-san's investigation since the last time we met?"

"It has," Daichi answered, gravely. "We've basically abandoned the other two suspects and are focusing on Atsumu-san. Chinen-san expects to squeeze a confession out of him." He paused. "I won't lie... It doesn't look good for him. All the evidence is against him. Not to mention he has no alibi."

Of course. And that was just one of the bigger problems in his side, wasn't it? Looking at the evidence, Atsumu had all the reason to kill his brother, and all the time and preparation, too. It was only logical to conclude that Atsumu was the one who murdered Osamu, and that this incident was separate to Oikawa's murder. _But that can't be the case. The timing was too convenient. Everything was too convenient._

He would not send an innocent man to jail.

One was already enough.

"But there's still a chance, right?"

They all turned to Kindaichi, who had spoken. He flushed at the sudden attention.

"I—um," the man stuttered. "We have two days to figure out everything. I... I managed to get some stuff out of Iwaizumi when I went to see him yesterday. Maybe we can finally fit all the pieces together."

Sakusa relaxed somewhat. "He's right. There are still forty-eight hours before Chinen's brutes barge their way in."

Naoko harrumphed. "They can _try_. Murder suspect or not, he's still my patient. They'll be walking _quietly_ inside or else they'll be leaving with their _own_ hospital bill." She glanced at Daichi. "You can look the other way, right?"

"Sorry?" Daichi blinked, feigning ignorance. "I zoned out for the past ten seconds."

"How convenient," Sakusa said, unruffled. "I did the same."

Naoko smirked.

"So, Kindaichi-san," Okazaki said brightly, her laptop opened in front of her. "What exactly did you find?"

Kindaichi ran them through the details, which Okazaki jotted down on behalf of Sakusa. He spoke of the mysterious man that Oikawa had been texting religiously before he passed and the strange confession Iwaizumi had received from a girl who was supposedly Hirakawa.

"Wait," Sakusa broke in when he got to that point. "Are you certain it was her?" _That can't be._

"I showed Iwaizumi her picture," explained Kindaichi, looking worrisome at the sudden question. "And he said she was. Then again... He didn't remember exactly. But he confirmed it anyway!"

It was something to be taken with a grain of salt. "Kindaichi," Sakusa said, his voice lowering. "Do you realize what you're implying?"

"Ah..." From his facial expression, Sakusa could gather he truly did have no idea. "Is it that bad? I mean, she was just another student back then—"

"Owl-face is many things," Sakusa talked over him. "If this is true..."

"He's saying that you're making her out to be a pedophile," Naoko said bluntly. "Am I right?"

"Yes." There really was no beating around the bush about this, but it was also a difficult topic to be straightforward about, even for him. "She would've been an adult when this happened, and Iwaizumi a minor by technicalities." From Midorima and Kageyama, he knew she had done some sort of stint posing as a student during Kageyama's third year to watch over him, but to actually make advances on a student was...

Kindaichi balked. "Oh. Oh, _shit_."

"This isn't something that we can take at face value and throw around," Daichi warned. "She's the Prosecutor-General of Japan."

"Hang on," Kindaichi said desperately. "There was evidence of her confession that disappeared. A clay pig that she gave to Iwaizumi. If we find it, it might have her prints on it."

 _Prints...?_ Sakusa stilled in his seat, almost eerily so. The voices of the other men and women in the room faded into white noise. _A clay pig... One that Iwaizumi had at one point. One he no longer has?_ It was too early to jump to conclusions just yet, but he stored that bit of information away for later. "Hold on. Let's not put too much faith into that. Especially if it's gone."

Kindaichi pressed his lips into a thin line. "Alright. But... Did it help? Did Iwaizumi's testimony help?"

 _Barely._ The word was prepared to roll off his tongue, but he held back. The last thing Kindaichi needed was to have his hope destroyed. _But I can't deny that this raises more questions. Owl-face already took me off the case_ — _she's hiding something. But what?_ "Somewhat. We might be able to piece something together."

"What are we missing?"

At that, silence fell. Naoko was frowning deeply at the table, and Daichi seemed distinctly uncomfortable. It had hit them then—that this was an uphill battle they had little chance of winning.

_But it's not over yet._

"There's still one more person who hasn't given their side of the story yet," Sakusa stated. "Until I talk to Atsumu-san, we're not giving up." The man was shrouded in mystery—there were things about him that seemed obvious, but they were only symptoms of a deeper issue. One, perhaps, that had never been resolved.

"Of course not!" agreed Kindaichi, vehemently.

Daichi let out a small chuckle. "Can't argue with that. The reason I joined the force in the first place... Was to fight injustice in this world. I'll do whatever I can to help, Sakusa-san."

"... I may be able to make it three days, if you need it," added Naoko, contemplatively. "The hospital director might start asking questions, but it's worth the risk. As long as Hajime is out. He's been in there for too long."

There was a collective murmur of affirmation.

 _Ah, what the hell._ Sakusa deadpanned. _What am I supposed to say_ — _'you're all dismissed'? It's not like they work for me._ "We're done. You can all go. I'll be in touch."

Okazaki giggled. "You've never really been one for words, Sakusa-san..."

"Tch. I was getting to it. Everyone," half-standing, they gazed at him, puzzled, "Thank you. Justice in this world isn't something we often come across. But when we see the opportunity for it to prevail, we must seize it." He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "That is all."

They dispersed subsequently, each needing to get back to their own business. Kindaichi had a class to get to, and Daichi needed to be back at the station. Naoko's break was over, too, but she gave Sakusa her permission to see Atsumu before she exited the room.

"You can leave, too," Sakusa told Okazaki when she followed him down the hall a respectable distance behind.

"Oh?" Okazaki cocked a brow. "Are you sure, Sakusa-san?"

"He's never met you before," explained Sakusa, referring to Atsumu. "And," he smirked, "knowing the kind of person you are, he might not take to you kindly."

"Ridiculous. Everyone who's ever met me loves me. But," she let out an affected sigh, "If my boss so wishes, then I suppose I can leave you alone for a few hours... Just don't have too much fun, sir."

Sakusa halted, scowling at her. His face was half-hidden by his mask, but his eyes conveyed the message well enough. "What's that supposed to mean?"

However, annoyingly enough, Okazaki didn't give him an answer—simply giving him a smile he classed as knowing. "I'll be on my way."

Once he was rid of her, he picked up his pace. Knocking once on the door, Sakusa let himself in, pausing when he saw a female nurse talking with Atsumu at his bedside. She was holding a pitcher of water—both of them looked at him as soon as he entered.

"Pardon the intrusion."

The nurse frowned. "Sir, do you have permission to be here—?"

"The head doctor cleared me," Sakusa cut in, and from the way she paled, the woman knew exactly who he was talking about. "You can ask her, if you want."

The nurse gulped. "Uh—that won't be necessary. I'll leave you two to speak. Just buzz if you need anything."

Truly, Sakusa had to wonder just how much of a terror Dr. Makoshima Naoko was. But today, he was grateful for her.

"Yo," Atsumu lifted an arm, grinning, "Didn't think I'd see ya back here so soon."

Sakusa pulled up a chair next to his bedside. "I did say I was coming, didn't I?"

Atsumu turned on his side so that he was facing him. "Guess ya did. So—ya wanted answers, right?"

His first instinct was to immediately agree and move on with the conversation, but something stopped him. Sakusa held his tongue, mulling over his response. "That depends. Are you ready to answer?"

"No," Atsumu said honestly. "But I doubt I'll ever be ready, so now's a good time as any."

Sakusa Kiyoomi was not well-versed in the art of small talk. He preferred to get straight to the point, especially when interrogating witnesses and suspects. There was little he could pull out from himself to fill the gap between them—even if he wanted to. So, resigning himself, he got comfortable. "I need you to tell me the truth and nothing but the truth."

"Sure, but yer gonna need ta give me a place to start."

"Did you kill your brother?"

Atsumu blinked. Once, then twice. Immediately, with those words, the light atmosphere had dissipated, and his smile had faded away. Undoubtedly, he already knew his brother had passed, but—

"Of _course_ not. The minute I heard he was dead, I..." He let out a shuddering breath. "You know what I did."

"I know," Sakusa affirmed solemnly. "I just needed to ask anyway."

"You believe me?"

"I do." There was no hesitation on his behalf—he was certain of Atsumu's innocence. "I'm afraid I can't say the same for many others, though."

Atsumu laughed—the sound was weak and watery. "So I'm fucked, huh? More than I already am."

Sakusa's jaw clenched. "Not if I can help it. You're not the only guy that's been fucked over because of all this." _He's gotten away with too much already. I won't let him take my last witness._ "I need you to think back to a long time ago. Ten years ago, on the KidProdigy show. I need you to tell me everything you went through on their set, and answer every question I ask you in-between."

"I'm warnin' ya now," Atsumu disclaimed wearily, "We're gonna be here fer a while." When Sakusa didn't opt to back out, he exhaled sharply. "'Kay, then. Shit, where do I even start...?"

"Take your time."

The clock ticked.

For a while, they just sat in silence.

Then, Atsumu began to speak.

* * *

**June 28th, 2008**

Miya Atsumu scowled up at the obnoxiously colorful sign, a volleyball placed between his hand and his hip. His twin brother, Osamu, was chewing on a watermelon rind next to him, not looking too happy about the _Summer_ _Castle Academy_ sign on display either.

"So this is it?" Atsumu demanded. "Whaddya think, 'Samu?"

"Ma's crazy."

"Right?"

"Don't let her hear ya complainin', though," warned Osamu, looking back over his shoulder. Their mother, Miya Akari, was getting out of the car and marching toward her. The clicking of her high heels on the path grew louder as she approached.

"Atsumu!" Akari said sharply, stopping in front of them and giving Atsumu an appraising look. "Why did you take your ball out of the car, too?"

"Uh." Atsumu made a face. "Just 'cause..."

"Put it back," she ordered before rounding on Osamu. "And you, young man, better not have watermelon juice on your shirt."

"Relax, ma," Osamu tried to placate, holding his arms out to show her his white t-shirt, which was unstained. "I'm not a messy jerk like 'Tsumu. That's why he's wearin' black and I'm not."

"What was that, ya big—"

"Boys!"

They sighed in unison before chorusing, "Sorry, ma."

Grumbling, Atsumu took the keys from his mother to return the ball to the car, ignoring Osamu's request to throw away his watermelon rind, too. Once they had converged once more, Akari's keys safely in her handbag again, they entered the centre together, holding either of their hands.

His mother's hands were calloused, Atsumu noticed. _Had_ noticed more than once in his life. Their mother did everything around the house—it was no surprise, really. A small part of him pitied her. It was a fleeting feeling. Not even pity would get him to help around the house more. Maybe it worked a bit on Osamu, but not on him.

He was a selfish son.

 _So what?_ Atsumu glanced around the interior of the building. _S'not like it matters. I'll be outta her hair in a few years._

"Ah, you must be Miya Akari-san!"

The twins both raised their brow at the appearance of a middle-aged man with his hair slicked back. He was wearing round glasses—behind the spectacles, Atsumu could see he had that droopy fold to his eyes that made him look sad, even when he smiled like he was now.

Akari bowed her head politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Director Shō. These are my boys—Osamu," she pushed Atsumu's twin forward a little, "and Atsumu." Atsumu grimaced when she nudged him forward with a hand, too.

"Twins!" exclaimed Shō, eyes lighting up with curiosity. "How interesting."

Akari beamed. "They're my pride and joy. And I believe they'll be excellent picks for your next show."

"Yes, I..." In the breast pocket of his shirt, his phone buzzed, and he gave them an apologetic look. "Sorry—I'll be with you in a moment. My assistant, Takagi-san, will show you to the audition waiting room..."

As the director disappeared ("Hello? Chen?"), Atsumu's gaze following him out of sheer boredom, they were greeted by a young woman with long brown hair tied up in a low bun. She wore a pair of spectacles on her nose and a headset. Atsumu blinked up at her, tuning out his mother's repeated introduction.

Takagi was quite a tall woman, actually, and she leaned down to smile at the boys. "Osamu and Atsumu, right? My name is Takagi Chiasa, and I'll be looking after you for the meantime."

Atsumu felt a twinge of annoyance, and knew that Osamu was feeling the same. _We're not babies._ They didn't even want to be here, but their mother had dragged them down anyway... _Geez. I could be playing volleyball right now... I wonder how's Aran doing?_ His thoughts strayed as they followed Takagi down the hall. _We just up and left without even tellin'..._

Eventually, they reached a point where they had to separate from their mother, which wasn't a huge deal. Akari made a fuss, though, fishing a brush out of her pocket and combing out the knots and kinks in their hair. "Be good," she said to them—Atsumu had a feeling it was more directed at him than his brother—an underlying warning in her tone.

"Yes, ma," said Osamu.

Atsumu didn't say anything, merely turning his back on the woman. Osamu joined him a few seconds later, and they padded after Takagi together.

"Here you are." Takagi led them to a room. It was pretty empty besides some shelves and a basket full of clothes in the corner.

"I don't understand," Osamu voiced what they were both thinking. "Ain't this a cookin' show?"

"That's correct," replied Takagi, patiently. "But there are a few requirements contestants must meet before moving onto the next stage."

Atsumu snorted a laugh. "So we're supposed ta play dress-up?" The only good thing that could possibly come from this was seeing his brother in an embarrassing paisley dress. "You go first, 'Samu."

"Like hell, 'Tsumu."

Before Takagi could intervene, however, the sound of someone running toward them in high heels made them turn around. When they did, there was a woman with short black hair at the door, keeled over and panting hard. Atsumu could see her knees trembling—either she was super unfit, or she had been running for a long time.

"Sorry," she wheezed, "I'm late."

"Oh, that's fine," Takagi helped her stand, "You must be the junior stylist applicant! From Sendai, correct? It's a long way to Kobe, so I don't blame you. You got here just in time anyway—these are the boys you'll be helping out today. Think of it as your interview."

 _Eh?_ Atsumu tilted his head curiously. _She came all the way from Miyagi...? Just to work here? Maybe this show's legit after all..._

"Thank you." She stood up straight, brushing a few stray hairs back from her face and smiling through her exhaustion. "My name's Kageyama Miwa. I look forward to working with everyone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Possible last update for a while due to uni exams coming up. But we've reached 2k on Wattpad, and almost 4k on AO3!
> 
> It's on my insta @_yangri as well as YouTube :)
> 
> [shard society ost 4](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-OqxDwqEFs)
> 
> This is the theme of Sakusa and Atsumu!
> 
> Comments and reviews and discussion are always welcome and appreciated :D


	24. The Tale of Miya Atsumu (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His story begins.

**June 28th, 2008**

Atsumu was no stranger to the story—he and Osamu had heard it many times before, and he could practically recite it in his head. Still, though, Akari was telling it again as she drove them home. They lived a bit out of the way from downtown Kobe, and it was a forty minute drive back home.

 _Forty minutes of listenin' to ma whine_ , Atsumu thought scathingly, sharing a glance with Osamu. His twin didn't have to say anything for him to know that they were on the same wavelength about this.

The story could be contained in just a few point sentences. Akari had fallen in love with their father, Hozumi, in high school, and fell pregnant at the age of eighteen—just a month before her graduation. From there, it had been a constant downward spiral into bitterness, takeaway dinners and keeping up with her former fellow trainees by stalking their social media profiles and scorning their success. Now, after months of debate, Akari was determined to set foot in the entertainment industry once again—this time through her sons.

It wasn't _so_ bad.

Akari was annoying at best, and Atsumu enjoyed attention. He had come to terms with this a while ago and didn't really see the problem with it. Besides, no matter how annoying she was, she was still their _mom_. And it wasn't like she was making them quit volleyball or anything—they just needed to dedicate some of their time to the studio, too.

"Well?" Akari demanded as she sped down the highway. "How were your auditions?"

"'Samu wore a _dress_ ," Atsumu said immediately, grinning impishly.

"Did not!" snapped Osamu. "Stop lyin', ya lyin' liar."

Their mother sniffed. "I should _think_ not. No son of mine is going to be wearing _dresses_ , especially on national television." In the rear-view mirror, Atsumu saw her narrow her eyes. "You _did_ get in, didn't you? Or were you just messing around?"

Osamu wasted no time throwing him under the bus for before. "Only 'Tsumu did."

In return, Atsumu aimed a kick at his shin, which he had to jerk to the side to dodge.

"Atsumu," warned Akari.

Atsumu groaned. "Ma, we made it okay? We got through that weird dress-up audition, but we didn't cook anythin'."

Akari smirked. "Good. Who did your makeup, by the way? It looks nice."

It may have looked good, but it certainly didn't feel it. Atsumu's face was beginning to feel cake-y, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to scratch the substance off his cheeks. "Some lady. I don't remember her last name."

"Her first name was Miwa," Osamu, who was in the middle of unzipping his backpack to take out his lunch box, put forth. As soon as he finished speaking, he cracked open the box, pulled out an onigiri wrapped in cling-wrap, and begun to peel off the covering.

"You only remember it 'cause it sounds like ours," Atsumu huffed.

"Yeah. So?"

"Just gimme one already, jerk."

Wordlessly, Osamu passed his brother a rice ball and took a big bite out of his own. Atsumu was quiet, too, as he ate, pondering the next time he would see Aran and play volleyball again. They would be entering their second year of middle school next year, and he wanted to see how good Aran had gotten since he graduated from his own second year. At his feet, wedged beneath the driver's seat and the floor, was a scuffed up volleyball. One that Atsumu often set whenever he was at home to one-up his lazy brother.

"I spoke to the director a few days ago," Akari suddenly said. "Filming will be in Sendai, Miyagi."

"What?!" Atsumu burst out. "But that's so far away!"

"Do we hafta?" Osamu added, his rice-filled cheeks puffed out indignantly.

Akari's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Are you really asking me this now? You passed, and that's all that matters for now. Don't throw away your dreams like I did."

The twins exchanged a glance.

_This ain't our dream._

Finally, they were home, Akari pulling into their driveway. Atsumu collected his volleyball and shut the door, giving his house an appraising look. Akari didn't make a lot of money bagging groceries and stocking shelves, and their dad was unemployed, but at least they had a nice house. One their paternal grandparents had left for their dad before they passed.

"Oomph!" Atsumu glared at Osamu when the latter slapped his back.

"Quit starin' and get movin', ya jerk."

"I was aboutta!"

They took off their shoes at the porch and carried them in. Their house didn't have a typical entrance-way, and they had to stack their shoes on a small shelf by the front door.

"We're home," the twins chorused.

"Dear?" Akari called, unfastening her earrings. She wandered into the kitchen. "Hozumi?"

"Betcha he's passed out on the floor," Atsumu whispered, smiling. But Osamu didn't return the smile. His brows were furrowed; slowly, Atsumu's own smile faded. "Lighten up, why don'tcha?"

"Sorry if I ain't laughin' about our dad bein' a deadbeat drunk," Osamu deadpanned, walking ahead.

Atsumu let his brother go, clicking his tongue. Osamu had always been more sensitive about their father, but it'd been getting worse recently. _What's the point of gettin' all down in the dumps about it, though?_ It wasn't like their father would change overnight. Because Hozumi never changed. Sighing, he slid down the corridor on his socks and entered the bedroom he shared with Osamu. He threw his bag aside and shrugged off his jacket. It might have been chilly this morning, but it was certainly warming up now.

He slept on the bottom bunk, and all but tossed himself into bed, on top of the covers. He hadn't done much today, but he needed to recharge.

Osamu came in not too long after Atsumu was starting to nod off, bringing the smell of the kitchen in with him. "Ma's makin' lunch."

Atsumu yawned, feeling his t-shirt twist as he turned on his side. "Wha? Like, actual lunch, or...?"

A snort. "Whaddya think?"

Lunch was what Akari had taken home from the local supermarket from her last shift. His appetite reduced to nil, Atsumu sipped on a juice box, wishing that his brother did the cooking around the house instead. He was much better than the rest of them combined. Before her family had disowned her for being a pregnant teenager, Akari had been pampered, and Atsumu knew for a fact that she didn't even know how to cut vegetables properly. Their dad was even worse—the only thing he entered the kitchen for was beer or dinner.

"Where's dad?" Atsumu asked the useless question. _Chokin' on his own vomit, maybe?_

"I'm not sure," answered Akari. "At the bar, maybe. Or pachinko."

The corner of Osamu's lips turned downward. "Pachinko? Seriously? Can he just... not?"

Akari sighed heavily. "You know how your father is."

"Can't ya just leave 'im?" ventured Atsumu.

"Atsumu, we've _talked_ about this."

Atsumu pushed his soggy, soy sauce soaked vegetables around in his takeaway container. "Whatever."

Their time together proceeded in silence. Osamu ate most of the food, burping loudly at the end of it. He was bringing his plate—he was the only one who needed one—to the sink when Akari popped a question that neither of them had been expecting.

"I saw these in the bin," she lifted up two crinkled papers, "When I was cleaning your room."

Osamu, still standing at the sink and washing his hands now, peered over his shoulder, frowning. "Ya went through our stuff?"

"Don't be like that. It was just trash."

 _She's making that face,_ thought Atsumu, eyes darting to the side so he wouldn't have to see it anymore. _The one that says 'I have nothin' to be sorry for because I did nothin' wrong'._

Judging from the outrage on Osamu's mien, it was the entirely wrong thing to say. Before he could speak up further about it, though, she went on, "I didn't realize the school was so old fashioned. These 'my dream' worksheets... aren't they outdated?" Akari gave the papers a once-over. "But... it did raise some concerns for me."

Atsumu knew what Osamu had written on his and vice versa.

"I know KidProdigy might not exactly be your dream, but you'll learn to love it," Akari assured them. "Atsumu—it's sort of close to your dream, isn't it? It's not pro volleyball, but you'll still get attention, right?" As if that was all that mattered to him. She really didn't know him, did she? "And Osamu..." Here, she hesitated. Atsumu felt a pang of irritation—Akari was _always_ more patient with Osamu. She never spared that sort of patience or sensitivity with him. "If you do this, you'll be the furthest you can possible be from him."

"Bullshit," Atsumu said, waiting for Osamu to back him up.

But Osamu didn't say anything. Just rubbed more soap into his hands.

Akari's nostrils flared. "Watch your language." Then she held up the worksheets again. "Maybe you should pin these on your board," she advised, referring to the cork-board hanging in their room. It was divided vertically in the middle by a line of chalk—the left side belonged to Osamu, and the right to Atsumu.

Atsumu refused almost immediately, but Osamu didn't. Instead, he took both of the sheets from their mother. "I'll go put 'em up."

"Hey!" Affronted, Atsumu abandoned the dining table without excusing himself and chased after Osamu, catching up with him in the hall just outside their bedroom. "Yer kiddin' me, right? Why?"

" _You_ don't have to do this," Osamu retorted, shoving the paper in Atsumu's face. "But... Maybe ma's right fer once."

"Huh?! Now I know yer insane!"

Osamu stepped around him and into their room, where he put up his worksheet on his side of the board. Atsumu looked down at his own worksheet, pressing his lips into a thin line. Then, with a grumble, he caved, putting his sheet on his side of the board, too. There was a grey stain on the top corner of the paper, which he ignored when he took a step back to admire it reluctantly.

**MY DREAM**

**NAME:** Miya Atsumu

 **DREAM:** Get into the v-league and become the best setter of all time

Atsumu turned his head to glance at Osamu's.

**MY DREAM**

**NAME:** Miya Osamu

 **DREAM:** I don't want to be like my dad

"We'll make it," declared Atsumu, sensing the torment in his brother. He placed his hands on his hips. "Even if our dreams end up being somethin' different in the future."

Osamu allowed himself a half-smile. "Sure."

* * *

That night, Atsumu awoke to a thudding against the wall. He groaned softly, wiping a trickle of drool from his mouth. Smacking his lips, he sat up in his bed, his hair mussed on one side. _What the hell was that?_

He slipped out of bed, shuddering when his feet landed on the wooden flooring. It was a relatively warm night, but the planks still managed to suck the heat from his skin.

"Where're ya goin'?"

Atsumu, his hand on the doorknob, paused. Then he tilted his head back to look at Osamu, who was sitting hunched on the top bunk. "Water."

"Mmkay."

The mattress creaked slightly as Osamu flopped back down.

Atsumu waited for a few more seconds before exiting the room.

He was pouring water from the pitcher and into a glass at the kitchen counter when he heard voices growing louder from the other room—the living room, where his dad normally was, just watching television with a beer in one hand.

"—I hate you! You ruined my life!"

"Nobody asked ya to love me, bitch! I didn't ruin yer life, ya ruined it yerself!"

 _I knew it. Ma and dad are fightin' again..._ Grimacing, Atsumu chugged his water, not wanting to listen to any more of it. But the voices invaded his head anyway, and his feet were rooted to the floor.

"I WAS GOING TO BE A STAR— _AHHH!_ "

A shriek, followed by the sound of glass shattering against the wall.

His legs shook.

_What was that?!_

Before he could go investigate for himself, the door to the living room slid open with a bang, then back shut as a figure lumbered through in the dark. Akari's hair was a mess, and—even in the dimly lit kitchen—Atsumu could see her face was blotchy from crying. But she didn't seem to be hurt, and he relaxed slightly.

Akari slumped against the door as her husband shouted something obscene from the living room. She clasped her hands over her ears, screaming back, "FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARD! DIE! DIE! _DIE_!"

Atsumu set his cup down and padded down the hall and back to his room, unnoticed by his crying mother. He crawled back into bed, numb, and stared at the bottom of Osamu's bed for the next ten minutes.

Then his brother's voice floated down. "You okay, 'Tsumu?"

"Yeah. I'm okay, Samu."

* * *

**July 13th, 2008**

They were on the plane to Miyagi by eight o'clock in the morning. Atsumu and Osamu slept through the entirety of the trip, even through breakfast. When they woke up, the plane was descending at Sendai Airport.

"Yer breath stinks," said Osamu.

Atsumu flipped him off as he drank from a water bottle the airline had given to them for free. Then he passed it to Osamu, who finished the rest of the liquid.

"Are you hungry?" asked Akari, who was sitting in the aisle seat. Osamu—the lucky bastard—had the window seat, leaving Atsumu to sit squished in the middle. "I bought some gyoza."

Their stomachs growling, the twins accepted, each of them eating four fried dumplings. As they ate, Akari touched up on her makeup, wearing heavy foundation to hide a bruise on her jaw. Atsumu thought there was one beneath her eye, too, but he couldn't really tell. Maybe it was just part of the dark circles under her eyes.

Director Shō had paid for a hotel room as well as an escort for them, and Atsumu wheeled his suitcase behind him with wide eyes. He had never been out of his prefecture before.

There were two men waiting for them—one was dressed in a black and blue hotelier uniform while the other was wearing a more casual outfit—track pants and some sports jersey with a jacket thrown over haphazardly. The latter was wearing a baseball cap that hid most of his head, too, and Atsumu cocked a brow at his hawk-like stare, as if daring him to do something. _Kinda looks like a thug, doesn't he?_

The hotelier lifted down the sign he was holding—one that read 'Miya family'—when he saw them coming. Akari approached him with a beaming smile, but the man in the cap intercepted her.

"Good morning," he greeted smoothly, ignoring her surprised face. "My name is Chen Jianhong, and I'm the set manager of KidProdigy." The surprise never left her face—clearly, Akari had been expecting the gentlemanly hotelier to take the lead in introductions. "I hope you had a nice flight."

"O-oh, yes," Akari recovered, "We did, thank you very much."

Chen barely spared the twins a glance. "We'll be heading to the hotel first. You have two hours to yourselves before you have to be on set. We won't be filming today, but," he looked at Osamu and Atsumu for the first time, "The children will be getting acquainted with one another and we'll be laying down some ground rules."

They all climbed into a car with the hotel name painted on the side. The hotelier was the driver, and Chen sat in the front passenger seat, leaving Atsumu and his family to sit in the back row. Again, much to his dismay, Atsumu found himself sitting between his brother and mother.

The drive was... quiet.

A few times, Akari did try to engage Chen in conversation, but the man was stubbornly reserved.

"Are you Chinese, Chen-san?"

"Yes."

"From the mainland, or somewhere else?"

"Mainland."

Bored, Atsumu sagged in his seat and looked out Osamu's window. According to the hotelier, it was an hour drive to their hotel. "Hey," he whispered to Osamu. "D'ya think they'll let us check out some restaurants? I wanna try some Miyagi food."

Osamu nodded, always agreeable when it came to food. "Hope so. They got some pretty good seafood here, I think. Like oysters."

"You'll get food poisoning."

"Nah." Osamu patted his belly. "Iron stomach."

"So what brings you to Japan?" Akari was asking, still pressing Chen for answers.

"I left to find work," Chen replied curtly. "Director Shō was kind enough to take me in."

"Well, you're very good at Japanese," Akari said sweetly. "There's a bit of an accent I can hear, but it's charming."

Chen grunted.

 _Charmin'?_ Atsumu wrinkled his nose. _There's nothin' charmin' about this punk._

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about Manager Chen didn't sit right with him. He looked at Osamu, but his brother seemed to be zoning out, staring blankly at the driver's headrest. _Well,_ Atsumu faced forward, _If he tries anythin' on us, we'll show 'im._

* * *

The rest of the kids didn't really look like much in Atsumu's opinion. Sure, they were all pretty good-looking for some reason, but none of them really stood out to him. He stood leaning against the wall with Osamu, who was drinking a milk carton he had gotten from the vending machine outside. The last they had seen of Akari, she was introducing herself to the other parents.

They sure were getting a lot of looks, though. Probably because they were twins—to their luck, though, it wasn't hard to tell them apart today. Osamu was wearing a black hoodie, while Atsumu was wearing a white sweater. Atsumu passed his hand through his black hair, pretending he wasn't scratching an itchy spot on his scalp. "Hey, 'Samu."

"Yeah, 'Tsumu?"

"Ya got any mints?" There had been a whole bowl of them at the hotel's reception desk—Osamu had took a whole handful of them.

But Osamu scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Ya ate the last one on the way here."

"Don't be stingy," Atsumu pressed, convinced that Osamu was still holding a couple for himself. Selfish prick. But before he could investigate by shoving his hands into his brother's jacket pockets, the door slammed open, and a brown-haired kid appeared. "Eh?" Smirking, Atsumu nudged his brother. "Who's this clown, 'Samu?"

Osamu was giving the newcomer a _look_. "Dunno, 'Tsumu."

To his credit, the boy was quick at flipping the switch. He teased his side-swept bangs a little before standing up straighter and grinning. "Hey, guys! Sorry, I'm late." He merged into the crowd, Atsumu's eyes following him curiously as he swapped introductions. He was a boy maybe around their age, and yet he had this charisma about him that neither of them did. A certain quality that made the other children open up to him quickly, and feel like they were welcome.

"This is a competition," Osamu muttered in Atsumu's ear. "I dunno what he's thinkin', goin' 'round like that."

Atsumu could already trace where this was going. He laughed. "Yer just mad 'cause you don't think he's takin' this seriously."

"Yeah, but—oh, shit, he's comin'. Act natural."

"Don't gotta tell _me_ twice."

"Yoohoo~!" The boy halted beside them. "So you're the twins, huh?"

"Eh?" Atsumu perked up. "You've heard of us?"

"No," said the boy. "Why? Should I have?"

 _This jerk...!_ Atsumu narrowed his eyes at him. "Whaddya want, flake?"

"And I'm supposed to be the mad one?" Osamu chuckled lowly.

"Now, now, no need to be so hostile," he smirked, "My name's Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru. Hmm..." He leaned forward, hands in his pockets and eyes wide. "I've never crushed a pair of twins before. This'll be interesting."

"Huhhh?" Osamu made a leering face, Atsumu mirroring the expression. "What was that?"

Oikawa smiled. "Oh, nothing. Just what call friendly banter."

Atsumu sneered. "Take yer friendly banter and shove it up yer—"

The door swung open again, the noise drowning out the rest of Atsumu's words. It was Manager Chen—the man who had escorted them to the hotel. Truly, Atsumu wished he didn't have to see him so soon. Shoving his hands in his shorts—he had no pockets—he settled for glowering at Oikawa.

"Sorry," Oikawa whispered, not sounding apologetic in the least, "Did I offend you?"

"Shuddup before I knife ya."

"Hey," Chen growled, lifting up his clipboard. "I hope you're all acquainted now. Go down to the filming area—Director Shō has an important announcement to make, and then we're gonna go over some ground rules. Got it?"

"Got it!" they said in unison.

Only Oikawa and the twins hadn't replied, both parties exchanging rather distasteful looks.

Chen sent them outside. Atsumu tried kicking the back of Oikawa's ankles a couple of times, but always missed. The final time he tried it, he ended up kicking another kid.

"Hey, watch it!" the kid complained.

Atsumu scowled at him. "Tch, whatever."

"I'll tell the manager," he threatened.

At once, Atsumu stood up to his full height, one which towered over the other boy, who must have been a year or so younger than him. "Oh, is that so? What are ya—some goody-two-shoes? The kind that only knows how ta go cryin' ta mama? Pfft, that's real funny."

"Whoa, someone's fired up," Osamu remarked as the younger boy pushed his way forward in tears, unable to be stand being in their presence any longer. "That Oikawa guy really got under yer skin, huh?"

Once they were all gathered on set—a vast area which had multiple cooking benches for all of them—they sat down on a mat while Shō held court over them. The rules were pretty simple and boiled down to 'don't misbehave or there will be harsh penalties'.

Then they were let go for the day, everybody picking up their bags from their lockers on the way out.

"Well, that was easy," said Atsumu, adjusting the strap of his bag. It crossed diagonally over his front—Osamu had a matching one. Filming started this Tuesday, apparently.

Osamu made a noncommittal noise. "Hey, let's stop by at the vending machine."

"You're _always_ hungry, 'Samu."

"I'm a growin' boy."

"I eat half as much as you do. Yer gonna get fat real soon, y'know."

But Osamu didn't seem to be bothered with this knowledge at all, and they took a detour through the building to where the vending machines were. They slowed down when they saw someone was already there—the stylist from the other day.

_Eh? She's here, too? Must've sucked, comin' all the way to Kobe just to come back where she started._

"Oh, hello," Miwa greeted them, collecting something from the slot. A bite-sized chocolate cake. "You're the Miya twins, right? Osamu and Atsumu."

"That's us," Osamu affirmed, hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "It's nice ta see you again... Kageyama-san."

"You totally remembered that just then," Atsumu said.

"Aw, shuddup, 'Tsumu."

Miwa gave a half-smile. "Just Miwa is fine. Would you like anything?"

Osamu started, "Ah, we couldn't—"

"Yes, please!" Atsumu interjected, beaming up at Miwa. "Can we get two of what yer havin'?"

As Miwa inserted the money into the machine, Osamu stepped on Atsumu's foot. "Greedy bastard."

"Kageyama-saaaan," a female voice called, and a shadow appeared on the wall of the corridor, getting smaller as she approached. It was Takagi from the other day, with her limp brown hair and droopy eyes. "Oh, there you are. We're going out for beers tonight. You're coming, right?"

"Oh, I'll be there," Miwa promised, pink dusting her cheeks, perhaps at the prospect of getting drunk after a long day of work. She gave the chocolate cakes to the twins. "Here, my treat."

"Thank you." They accepted the food with grace. Miwa waved at them before following Takagi back to the staff area.

Atsumu peered down at his snack. "She's nice."

"And you took advantage of that, asshole." Osamu glanced down the corridor. "I saw her on set with Takagi-san, too. I wonder why—Takagi-san's so _gloomy_."

"Yeah," Atsumu agreed as they walked out the building, cake between his teeth. "But Takagi-san's her boss, kinda, I think."

"She's gloomy," Osamu repeated. "Like, spooky, even. I wouldn't wanna be in an alley with her at night."

Atsumu cackled. "Scared she'll turn into a bat?"

"More like that she'll stab me in the back."

Into the late afternoon air, Atsumu laughed even louder.

* * *

**July 17th, 2008**

Atsumu yawned, stretching his arms up and arching his back. _Man, that was tough._ The standard of competition was... higher than he first anticipated. But there was something strange about it. Everybody fell into a category—either you were pretty good or you absolutely sucked. Osamu fell into the former, while Atsumu was leaning more toward the latter. At least that Oikawa guy didn't seem to be such a great cook either, so it was an even playing field between them.

On Tuesday, it had been a battle for a chance at first immunity pin of the season. On Wednesday—yesterday—it had been a team challenge, and one where Atsumu discovered that he definitely didn't get along with these people. It wasn't his fault, though—they were either idiots, babies, or just plain annoying. Osamu, who had been sorted onto the same team as Atsumu, had basically carried them to victory with his captaining. He was the only reason why Atsumu wasn't cooking in an elimination round this Sunday.

Today, Thursday, had been the battle for the immunity pin between four chefs. Some girl named Hanae Miyo had won it with her unique take on an apple pie.

Personally, Atsumu didn't really see anything unique about it, but the judges were impressed anyway.

Aside from the four winners from Tuesday, everybody else was on the gantry in casual clothes. Osamu and Atsumu were wearing the same thing they had worn last Sunday—only swapped. Osamu had the sweater while Atsumu had the hoodie.

"That was intense," commented Osamu.

"You should've been down there," some random girl opined before Atsumu could respond, wedging herself between them. "You're a great chef, Osamu-kun."

"Oh, thanks." Osamu peered around her. "Oi, 'Tsumu, think ma will let us eat out tonight?"

At being completely blown off, the girl frowned and went away. Atsumu was almost disappointed. She seemed like someone who needed to be called a pig to her face. "Nah," he replied. "Not unless one of us wins somethin'."

"Yeah, thought so."

The children were thanked for being good for this week by Takagi, Miwa standing in the backdrop. Their continued cooperation was emphasized, and then they were sent on their way. Most of them had parents waiting in the lobby, and the twins were no exception. They walked slowly, not wanting to see Akari so soon.

They were nearing the end of the corridor that opened up into the lobby when Atsumu heard it for the first time.

"Ugh," one girl was speaking lowly to her friend, unaware she was within earshot. "That Miya Atsumu is such a jerk..."

"I know, right?" her friend murmured back. "He yelled at me during the team challenge yesterday. I was so scared..."

"I yelled at ya," Atsumu whirled around, making them jump, "'Cause ya weren't helpin' with anythin'! If you don't want me ta yell, then stop bein' _useless_."

Osamu let out a low whistle next to him just as the girl paled, looking like she was about to burst into tears at any moment. And maybe she would've cried right there and then, Atsumu sneering, if someone hadn't appeared out of nowhere.

"Mou, Megumi-chan," Oikawa consoled. "Don't worry about this guy. He's just a huge grump." He patted her shoulder. "You'll do better next time, don't worry about it!"

_Ugh, this guy again? Mr. Smiley McFake._

Megumi sniffled, but his encouragement seemed to work. "Thank you, Oikawa-kun..."

They dispersed not long after, and Atsumu all but forgot about the incident. When they were getting driven back to the hotel, however, Akari sprung a surprise on them.

"We're going to get delivery for dinner tonight," she said with one of her rare smiles. "To celebrate the end of your first week. Congratulations, my little stars. Since it's a debut show, they're showing the first two episodes in one sitting."

 _Delivery?_ Atsumu couldn't fight back a smile. That was almost as good as going to a restaurant for dinner when it came to their family. "What're we getting?"

"We can look at menus when we get back," Akari promised.

That night, they tuned it at seven-thirty to catch the first episode of _KidProdigy: Into the Frying Pan!_. Atsumu and Osamu sat on the floor, eating their meals at the coffee table, while their mother sat on the couch just behind them. She was indulging in some creamy pasta. The first episode passed without much commentary from any of them, but then—

Atsumu dropped his fork on his plate, dumbfounded, as he saw himself shouting at Megumi for seemingly no reason. _What the hell...?_ The scene didn't last awful long—there were other contestants to show. _She brushed all the onion skins into the bin when 'Samu said he needed them for his stew!_ He could feel Akari's stare boring into the back of his head. _Why do I look like the bad guy here?_

Osamu blinked at the TV. "Huh."

It was not an isolated scene. More scenes of Atsumu appeared, all of them being scenes where he was upsetting someone or being upset.

"Atsumu," said Akari, exasperated. "What is all this? I didn't teach you to behave this way."

"It's not my fault!" Atsumu protested, twisting his head back to face her. "I mean, some of it, maybe, but they deserved it!"

"I don't want to hear excuses," she said sternly. "Next week, you better be on your best behavior, okay?"

Atsumu glared at the floor. He couldn't promise that. Not in the least. " _Fine_."

The next clump of pasta he ate, he bit down on the plastic fork.

* * *

"The ratings and viewership," Takagi said gingerly, holding out a sheet of paper to the director. "Aren't as good as we hoped for."

Shō pursed his lips, taking the record from her and scanning it. "I see. But there seem to be spikes at certain time frames." He handed it back to her. "Find out what was playing here," he circled a peak, "and here." He circled another peak.

Takagi bowed. "Of course, sir."

She returned perhaps fifteen minutes later, just as Shō was packing up his laptop and preparing to leave the studio for the day. "Apparently," she reported. "It was when..." She paused, then took out her phone. "It would be better to show you." Takagi had recorded a larger screen from a different room.

Shō watched carefully as Miya Atsumu spat and swore at his fellow contestants on his assistant's grainy recording. Takagi remained apprehensive, waiting for words of disapproval and maybe a threat to kick him from the show.

But, instead, Shō merely smiled. "I see. I understand now. Thank you, Assistant Takagi. You can leave for today."

"Thank you, sir."

As she was leaving, he called after her, "Going drinking with Kageyama-san again?"

"And the others," Takagi said, defensive.

"Well, you have fun now."

"... Thank you, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Based on the story of Mirae from Girl's World/Odd Girl Out. If you've read it, you'll probably know where this is going 0u0
> 
> I didn't think I'd be updating so soon, so oop. Also, I didn't notice we hit 100k words before, but we did, so yay. It'll probably go up to 150k, maybe? Idk. We're like around 75% done with everything.
> 
> I have an 8-hour shift starting from 7:30am tomorrow but I woke up past 3pm today, so... Yeah, I'm screwed lol. Might as well read some SakuAtsu fanfic while I'm at it. Found a good one called Burden of Blame the other night, so I'm going to destroy my sleep schedule even further.
> 
> Comments/reviews and discussions and theories are love! Seriously, I love reading them all lol


	25. The Tale of Miya Atsumu (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The director makes a deal with Akari.

**July 18th, 2008**

He saw the first hate comment at breakfast, courtesy of Osamu scrolling through the family laptop. Breakfast was last night's leftover pasta. Osamu must have heated it up, because Akari was nowhere to be found.

Atsumu positioned himself behind his brother's chair and leaned over his shoulder. On the official website forum for KidProdigy, hundreds of people had left negative comments and reviews—not for the show, but for _him_.

It was all the same thing.

Either some variation of _'I pity the other children'_ or _'I hope he gets booted from the show'_. Occasionally, they'd have a _'what were his parents thinking when they raised him?'_. To his aggravation, the majority of people were offering sympathy for _Megumi_.

"What a buncha losers," Atsumu snorted before digging through his nose for a booger. He flicked it into the sink.

Osamu turned around halfway. "I mean, it _does_ look pretty bad to the average viewer."

"So?" Atsumu retorted. "They gotta stop being such babies, then."

"Still, maybe you should be more careful with what ya say."

"But that's, like, lettin' 'em _win_."

"You _really_ gotta learn how ta pick yer fights better."

Atsumu shrugged. "Where's ma?"

"Grocery shoppin'. Said she wanted us to practice while we're not filmin'." Osamu reached to the side to pick up a juice box that Atsumu hadn't noticed before. "Don't worry too about the comments, by the way. They're just cowards hidin' behind a screen."

"I wasn't _worried_." Atsumu couldn't keep the snip from his tone, but he knew Osamu wouldn't take it personally. "Kinda pissed, yeah, but not _worried_." As if to make a point, he got the remaining leftovers from the fridge and a carton of milk. There was some pudding inside, too, and he made a mental note to eat that before Osamu could. "Everything's gonna be fine."

_Just fine._

* * *

**July 22nd, 2008**

Filming started pretty early in the morning, and Atsumu let out a huge yawn as they stepped into the building. The waiting lobby was filled with gossiping parents, as it usually was, and they all turned to look at him as he walked in with Osamu and their mother. Akari, noticing the attention, frowned before putting on a megawatt smile, which made the other adults in the room relax.

Akari kissed them both on the forehead. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Yep," said Osamu.

As usual, Atsumu didn't reply. This time, though, it was a bit different. Normally, ignoring his mother was something he chose to do, but right now... All that was in his mind were the collective glances that they had given him just moments ago.

"Wish they'd stop starin'," he grumbled, still feeling their eyes on the back of his head as they trudged down the corridor and toward the set. "I'm surprised they can even tell us apart."

Osamu gave him a look. "Have ya forgotten what we're wearin'?"

At his words, Atsumu peered down. His name was imprinted on bold characters on the front of his sweater. Osamu's sweater had his own name on it, too. The clothes had been custom-made gifts from the staff. "Oh. Right."

There was some kind of setback, apparently, and filming was delayed by half an hour. The twins were directed to a different room, where all the other kids were waiting, too. All the beanbags had been taken already. One of the girls had a hot pink flip phone, and some of the other female contestants were crowding around her with envy in their eyes.

"Megumi-chan, your phone is so _cute_!"

"I _love_ your phone charm, Megumi-chan."

 _Misumi Megumi_. Atsumu had become very familiar with her name over the past few days. Mostly because their contestant profiles had been posted on the official website, he had spent a considerable amount of his Saturday glaring at her grinning picture. Just the mere mention of her name would send him into a terrible mood—she was such a useless _crybaby_.

Megumi seemed to preen under the attention her phone was getting. "Aw, thanks guys~!"

"It's a pretty nice phone," a male voice chimed, and Atsumu's cheek twitched as Oikawa Tooru sauntered up to them with his hands in his pockets. There were a few boys and girls trailing after him, too—he was quite the popular one. "Did your mom buy it for you?"

"Yeah, she did!"

"Whoaa, lucky!"

Their cliques delved into conversation, and Atsumu made a gagging noise that only Osamu heard. His brother snickered. For the most part, they just ignored the conversation around them, talking to each other. But then Megumi's voice carried across the whole room.

"Did you guys watch the Thursday debut?"

"I did!" said a stocky boy, raising his hand as if he were in a classroom. "It was wicked!"

Atsumu scoffed over the excited murmurs. "Calm down. They _barely_ showed you on camera."

The boy's face fell.

"They only really showed Hanae-chan and Atsumu-san," pointed out Oikawa, mildly. He got a few nods.

Hanae Miyo darted her eyes away, startled by the sudden mention of her name. "Um, yeah..." She didn't have to worry any longer, though, because the attention shifted to Atsumu instead. If they had shown Hanae, it was because she was probably the best chef among all of them, even Osamu. But Atsumu was an average cook, one who only knew what to do because nobody grew up with Osamu as their twin not knowing how to cook. The only reason why he had gotten more screen time was purely because of his attitude, and he knew that.

They all did.

"Atsumu-san," Oikawa addressed him, not looking as playful as he normally did. "I think you should be more careful."

Before Atsumu could kindly tell him to mind his own business with a sentence full of expletives, someone else cried, "What do you mean, Oikawa-kun?"

"I—"

The door opened, and there stood Takagi. "Everyone, you can come out now. Filming's about to begin!"

Whatever Oikawa had been about to say went forgotten as they all streamed out in an orderly fashion. Atsumu held his head up high as they all lined up in front of the camera, refusing to twiddle his thumbs like some of them were doing. Both Oikawa and Osamu had warned him from speaking his mind too much, and while he had been prepared to turn his nose up at their advice, he was starting to reconsider.

 _Fine,_ he relented inwardly. _I'll dial it down a bit._

Atsumu performed considerably better today in terms of his behavior, if he did say so himself. He snapped at someone once for getting in his way, and it wasn't Megumi, which was the important thing. He didn't need anyone offering their saccharine sympathies anymore than they already did. If he had done any other things, he was sure it was while the cameras were focused on a different person. Hanae did have a tendency to hog the camera, even when it was clear she didn't want to, and they had give Osamu some of the spotlight today if the cameras surrounding him seventy percent of the time were any indication.

_Guess I'm good to go, then._

At the end of the day, they all retrieved their things from their lockers and headed down to the lobby, where their parents would pick them up.

"That's rare," Osamu said to him as they walked down the corridor. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"What day?"

A slow smirk. "The one where I see you swallowin' yer pride."

"Aw, shove off. I just wanted to get 'em off my back."

"Think it worked?" That wasn't Osamu's voice.

Atsumu jumped as he noticed Oikawa walking alongside him for the first time. "What the—when did you get here?!"

Oikawa pouted. "How mean. I've been walking with you this whole time." Atsumu glared at him, and he shrugged. "Fine, I just got here. I came to congratulate you, I guess. Y'know," he gestured at him, "It must've been hard not being an asshole, right?"

"I wouldn't hafta be if everyone here weren't so _stupid_ ," he snapped.

"'Tsumu," Osamu warned.

"What? What, 'Samu?"

"Everyone's starin'."

By 'everyone', Atsumu quickly found that he meant the kids and their parents who were still in the lobby. He hadn't even realized they had already traveled down to the end of the hallway. He felt his ears grow hot as he tried to maintain a brave face. The scornful looks of his teammates and opponents he was used to handling, but adults were a whole different breed. "Well—"

"I'm sorry I knocked over your food!" Oikawa suddenly shouted, bowing to him dramatically.

_Huh? What's he talking about?_

Osamu seemed to have caught on. "That's alright, we all make mistakes. Right, 'Tsumu?" The point of his elbow was digging painfully into Atsumu's ribs.

"Uh. Right."

Oikawa went on ahead, waving back to them. "I'll see you guys tomorrow!"

The condemning gazes looked away.

"What was that all about?" Atsumu murmured, unsettled.

"You still don't get it?" Osamu raised his brow. "Oikawa just saved your sorry ass."

"Ah." _Now_ he got it. "He didn't hafta do that."

"No," Osamu agreed. "But he did anyway."

Akari greeted them with open arms.

* * *

**July 23rd, 2008**

Tuesday's episode was aired on Wednesday night, from seven-thirty till eight-thirty. Wednesday's episode would be aired on Thursday, Thursday's on Sunday, and Sunday's on Tuesday. Filming was always one step ahead from airing. Once again, Akari, Osamu, and Atsumu were gathered in front of the television with their dinners. It was Osamu's cooking tonight, and Atsumu was already on his second helping.

Everything was okay at first. They didn't really show him in the first half of the segment, but then—

 _"Watch where you're going!"_ the Atsumu on television bellowed, his face twisting in annoyance. From the camera angle, it appeared as though _he_ had been the one to ram into a shorter boy.

The boy gulped. _"S-sorry!"_ Then he scuttled off, and Atsumu recognized him in that instant—it was the boy whose foot he had accidentally trampled upon on introduction day.

 _No..._ His heart sank. "It's not what it looks like—"

But Akari had already stood up, anger clear on her face. "Stop. I don't want to hear excuses right now." She sighed deeply, lifting one hand to rub her temple. "I'm going to go fix myself a drink. You boys stay here."

Atsumu turned to his brother. "You believe me, right?"

"Of _course_ ," Osamu answered. "I mean, yer an ass, but not _that_ big an ass."

"Right?! That kid was the one who ran into me!"

Their mother returned just as it cut to an interview with none other than Misumi Megumi. As she began to speak, Atsumu's blood chilled, and he could hear his heart thrum between his ears. Her mouth moved, her words accompanied with subtitles at the bottom of the screen.

 _"Ahh... What do I think of Miya Atsumu?"_ Megumi echoed a question that had been asked but edited out of the final product. She wrung her hands before holding them close to the printed crocodile on her t-shirt. _"Um... He's not afraid to speak his mind. He's a little scary, too, so I don't really want to get on his bad side..."_

Then it transitioned to show another contestant—the stocky boy he had pretty much told off today—whisking a concoction in a metal bowl. The scene was brief, and soon transitioned to another interview with the same boy. His name was Takahashi Eiji, a name that Atsumu had never really bothered to learn by his own accord. _"I don't have much of an opinion of him, I guess. But he seems to get annoyed a lot."_

"Oi, 'Tsumu." Osamu tapped his shoulder but he didn't feel or hear him.

 _These bastards...!_ Atsumu gripped the edges of the coffee table with all his might, his brown eyes fixed on the television. "It's not my fault! I even acted good today! Ma, you gotta believe me!"

Akari's face was hard. "Atsumu... You've always been the more difficult one..."

Was she really comparing him to his brother? Now of all times? He glared at her and she glared back.

"Ma, 'Tsumu, look."

Osamu finally got their attention. He was pointing at the television, where Megumi was putting her almond tuiles in the oven.

"What?" Atsumu gruffed.

"Look at what she's wearin'."

Megumi was dressed in blue overalls over a pink and white striped shirt, her reddish-brown hair held back by a clip. "Yeah?" Atsumu said uncertainly, crossing his arms. "So? What—am I supposed ta say she looks nice or somethin'?"

"No, you idiot." Osamu rolled his eyes. "Do you remember what she was wearin' when they interviewed her?"

"She..." Atsumu's eyes widened. "Holy shit!"

"Language!" reprimanded Akari. "Boys, care to tell me what's going on?"

"The interview and the cooking footage weren't recorded on the same day," Osamu elaborated, lifting his spoon in the air. "They just edited it so that it made it seem like Misumi was talkin' about 'Tsumu at the same time that kid ran into him!"

Atsumu nodded, almost frantically. "Yeah! The same thing with Takahashi, too!"

"This..." Akari hesitated. "This is rather serious." She chewed on her bottom lip. "Fine. I'll speak to the director tomorrow about it."

Osamu held up a hand, which Atsumu slapped as he grinned. Osamu smiled back, both of them mirrors of each other. Then they turned back to the TV and waited for the inevitable—more footage of Atsumu stepping out of line.

And, as they expected, it rolled on through.

"It wasn't as bad as last time," Osamu said as they crawled into bed. Their hotel room had two beds—a single for their mother and a queen-sized bed for the twins. Osamu liked to sleep with his back against the wall while Atsumu liked to sleep with his foot hanging over the side. "I doubt people are gonna care as much."

"True," agreed Atsumu, snuggling under the blanket. The ends of his hair was still slightly damp from the shower. "Can't wait for this to bite Shō in the ass."

"Mmhm."

"Night, 'Samu."

Osamu closed his eyes. "Night, 'Tsumu."

* * *

**July 24th, 2008**

Osamu was wrong. They _did_ care. And Atsumu knew this because he had woken up extra early in the morning to discover his mother missing and the family laptop sitting innocently on the kitchen table. Taking great care not to wake his twin, he had sneaked out of bed and into the kitchen. Then, with great apprehension, he had typed his own name into the Woogle search bar.

More results than he had anticipated showed up. He scrolled through them with a strange vigor, not even noticing that his hand was beginning to cramp from the sudden exercise.

The official KidProdigy website was the first page he checked. The comment section had blown up—all with vile messages that dripped with such acid that even Atsumu grimaced, feeling goosebumps crawl up his arms. His eyes were ringed with dark circles as he continued to read them.

 **fluffy_duck_mother1** _I hate this kid! If he were my child, I would have smacked him a long time ago! Where are his parents? Shouldn't they be disciplining him? Absolutely disgusting. This boy is going to grow up into a failure of an adult in the future. Hopefully, he ends up in prison, where he belongs._

 **sato_sato_nori** _wow what a brat lol, you can tell he comes from a rich family from how spoiled he is hahaha_

 **mikoko_1019** _he should not be treating the other children like that!11 he needs to get mental help ASAP_

 **hori18** _i want to punch his face GRRR SO ANNOYING DIE MIYA ATSUMU DIE DIE DIE BURN IN HELL_

 **pieboy** _Somebody needs to give him a kick in the ass. Preferably over a cliff._

 **yumi_mi** _I'm setting up a Miya Atsumu anti-cafe, anyone want to join? Reply to this comment and I'll private message you the code!_

 **kowai_kitsune** _Did you see the way he just slammed into poor Sato in last night's episode? Infuriating!_

 _Huh..._ Atsumu blinked slowly as he re-read the comments. Never before had he experienced something like this. It was... It made his gut clench and his hands shake. Logically, he knew there was nothing to be afraid of. It wasn't like any of these people could find him and hurt him. Probably. _Besides,_ he scowled, _Who cares about a buncha no-lifes?_ It didn't matter if they hated him. He didn't _need_ them to like him. _What's this about an anti-cafe, though?_

Intrigued, he searched up 'Miya Atsumu anti-cafe' into the search bar. About a dozen or so forums came up—all titled differently but the same in their core. Ignoring the rock that had formed in his stomach—one that was quickly morphing into a stinging ball of ice—he clicked on the first result. A list of threads came up—from most popular to least. It was a new creation, so there weren't many discussion threads yet. Again, he hovered his cursor over the first result.

**KIDPRODIGY EP. 4 MIYA ATSUMU DISCUSSION**

And it—

Atsumu swallowed, cupping one hand over his mouth as the image was seared into his brain. "Fuckin' hell...!"

Nobody had told him that people would be editing his face onto a slaughtered pig's, the flaps of its belly pinned open in a gruesome welcome into its innards.

Despite not having eaten breakfast yet, his stomach was churning with nausea.

 _Okay. Okay, calm down._ He took several deep breaths. _It's fine. It's fine. They're just trolls. They don't mean anythin'._

In the dim hotel room, Osamu's voice rang out. "'Tsumu? Where are ya?"

With trembling hands, Atsumu closed all the incriminating pages and opened up a game website—one which he sometimes played. "Here," he called back, hearing Osamu's feed thud as he got out of bed. "I'm playin' MapleTale."

The skepticism in his brother's tone was clear as day. "At eight in the mornin'?"

"Yeah?" He tried to seem nonchalant. "And?"

"Hmm..." Osamu entered the kitchen area, leaning over Atsumu to check the laptop.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Whaddya wanna eat?"

They were finishing up breakfast when Akari returned, her expression unreadable. It was a little strange—Atsumu had never seen her wear such a perfect poker face before.

"Hey, ma," Osamu intoned, standing to put his empty plate in the sink.

"So, didja talk ta Shō?" Atsumu demanded.

Akari nodded. "I did. Go freshen up, we're leaving soon."

The boys exchanged a glance.

* * *

 _What's up with her?_ Atsumu thought as they were driven by the hotelier to the set. Akari could be weird at times, but this was a different kind of weird. He didn't like it. "'Samu," he whispered. "Did ma say anythin' to ya?"

Osamu shook his head, equally as out of the loop as he was. "Nothin'. I dunno what's goin' through her head right now, but..."

They hit a bump in the road, and Atsumu's seat belt dug into his neck painfully. "Yeah," he grunted, rubbing his throat. "Okay."

It was supposed to be a normal day—or whatever constituted as normal in his life anyway. But as soon as they stepped into the lobby, gazes turning their way, Assistant Takagi was there to greet them. Atsumu squinted. _Is she wearing makeup?_ Either that, or the dark circles that she normally sported under her eyes had magically disappeared overnight.

"Hello, Miya-san," Takagi said politely, dipping her head. "Would you and Osamu-kun like to come with me? I'll take you to Director Shō's office."

 _Huh?_ "What about me?" Atsumu blinked at her. She wasn't too much taller than him, and he would probably tower over her by the time he started middle school next year.

"You can go to the contestant's room with the rest of the children," Takagi informed him.

Atsumu frowned, opening his mouth to protest. But Akari swiftly put a stop to that.

"Atsumu, just _go_ ," their mother said sternly.

"But ain't this about me?" he argued. "Why does 'Samu get ta listen in and I don't?"

Akari lowered her brow. "Not everything is about you, Atsumu! Come," she grabbed Osamu by the hand and jerked him down the hall, where Takagi was heading, "We're going."

For a moment, Atsumu could only stand there, dumbfounded. Just _what_ was going on? It was no secret that Osamu had always been the favorite child, but the favoritism was hitting new heights today. Never had Akari brushed him off so blatantly before. The messages from this morning swam to the forefront of his mind, and he felt his stomach flip again. _Does ma even know about that stuff?_ He clenched his teeth. _I bet if it was 'Samu, she would know..._

"Ah, it's the trouble twin..."

"Atsumu, right?"

"Did you see the show last night? Disgraceful..."

"Forget the show, did you see what happened just then? Absolutely no respect for his poor mother..."

All around him, the adults continued to gossip, ignoring his presence in the centre of the lobby. Indignation flared up inside him, boiling his blood and making him want to throw his bag at one chattering lady.

 _Shut up,_ he wanted to scream at all of them. _None of you know anything!_

Forcing his feet to move, Atsumu stalked down the corridor, only to nearly bump into a woman emerging from the bathroom. She gave him a look, which he returned. Atsumu knew this woman—or, rather, his mom did. He often saw Akari talking with her in the lobby as they waited for their children. Hanae Ichika—Hanae Miyo's wretched mother.

Muttering an apology, Atsumu stepped aside her and continued on his way. He glared the whole time, walking in a disgruntled march with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Atsumu-san."

He turned around.

Oikawa was jogging up to him, not looking quite as lively as he normally did.

"Oh, it's you."

"Listen... About last night's episode—"

"Save it," Atsumu snapped. "I'm not in the mood for yer gloating, 'kay?"

"I'm not here to _gloat_ ," Oikawa said, exasperatedly. "Geez, I'm not _that_ bad." They walked side-by-side. Even when Atsumu tried to speed up, Oikawa matched his pace easily. The brunet boy had longer legs.

"Then whaddya want?"

"I know what they're doing," Oikawa told him earnestly. "It's called devil's editing. I looked it up last night." That made Atsumu pause. Reluctantly, he slowed to a complete stop, waiting for Oikawa to continue. There was still some time before filming commenced. "You noticed it, too, right? Not bad for a knucklehead."

"Who're ya callin' knucklehead, windbag?"

Oikawa didn't deign to continue the name-calling. Good for him, Atsumu supposed. "I'm gonna be blunt. Nobody likes you, Atsumu-san. And I'm not talking about the people on the net—I'm talking about the other kids. But... They don't hate you _that_ much. Not enough to talk too badly about you. That's why they placed the interviews at those specific times."

The faces of Misumi Megumi and Takahashi Eiji flashed in his mind. What—was he supposed to thank them from holding back on him or something? Roughly, he asked, "Why are you tellin' me this?"

"Uh. Because it's wrong?" Oikawa raised both of his brows, as if the answer was obvious. "Like, okay, I'm no saint or anything, but I've read some of your hate comments, and..." He made a hand gesture, trying to find his words. "Geh! Doesn't it bother you?"

"No," Atsumu lied. "Why would I be _bothered_? They're just words."

Oikawa regarded him with narrowed eyes. "You don't really think that," he accused.

"Shut up, Oikawa." He began to walk ahead.

"So that's it, then?" Oikawa pressed. "You're just gonna roll over and let people say what they want?"

"I can take it!"

"But for how long?"

Atsumu halted, letting loose a shuddering breath. Everything was still seared into his brain, an imprint that would bother him forever. The hate comments, the anti-cafes, the goddamn pig—

"Atsumu-san?"

"My mom's workin' on it, okay?" Atsumu said, his voice wavering. He whipped around, hoping his expression held nothing but the strength he didn't feel but needed right now. "Stop _botherin'_ me, already. I don't need your _pity_."

"Wait."

" _What?_ "

Atsumu watched curiously as Oikawa put down his backpack and drew out a small notepad and a pen. He scribbled something on it before tearing the paper from the pad and holding it out to him. "Here. It's my number."

He didn't take it. "Uh. Why?"

"Keep me updated," Oikawa said. "And if you wanna talk or something, just send me a text."

Atsumu folded his arms across his chest. "I don't have a phone. And even I did, I'd never text you. _Ever_."

Oikawa scoffed. "Fine, but keep it anyway. Just in case."

"Ugh." Atsumu snatched the paper from him before shoving it into his hoodie pocket. "Happy?"

A shrug. "Dunno, but we should get going. Last one there's a rotten egg!" With that, he dashed off, backpack bouncing with each step.

"Hey, wait! Dammit, Oikawa, ya dumb bastard!" Swearing under his breath, Atsumu raced after him, feeling—perhaps—just a little lighter than he did earlier.

* * *

It was a team challenge today, and it was one of the most hectic experiences of Atsumu's life. He had both Osamu and Oikawa on his team, which was both a curse and a blessing. A blessing because he and Osamu could work in tandem like nobody else, and a curse because Oikawa—while the perfect team player—was a rather horrible cook. Plus, there was just something off about Osamu today, and their team almost ended up in Sunday elimination as a result.

They had made a lot of mistakes—Atsumu had bumped into Osamu multiple times due to the small kitchen space, and the same went with the rest of their teammates. Still, though, they were safe for now.

"Ugh," Atsumu groaned as they all trailed down the hall that led to the lobby. "That was _ass_."

"Yep," sighed Osamu.

"What's wrong with ya?"

Osamu startled. "Huh?"

"You're acting weird," Atsumu said pointedly, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and forcing him into a halt. The other contestants streamed around them. "Did somethin' happen in Shō's office?"

"It's..." Osamu trailed off, uncertainty—and guilt, was it?—crossing over his features. "They're not gonna stop."

Atsumu blinked once. Then twice. "Wait, what?"

"Shō and ma."

 _Ma? What's ma gotta do with any of this?!_ "'Samu, I swear to god, you better tell me what's goin' on right now or I'll sock ya one."

Osamu dragged him to the bathroom, making sure nobody was inside the stalls before he revealed, "You're the cash cow. Whenever ya act up or misbehave... That's when people watch. They watch for _you_ , 'Tsumu."

"Am I supposed ta be fuckin' flattered by that? The things they say about me—!"

"I know!" Osamu burst out, growing more and more distressed by the minute. "But Shō's cuttin' ma a deal and she _takin'_ it."

His heart dropped to his stomach. "What deal?"

"Shō's gonna keep doin' what he's doin to you," Osamu informed him bitterly, unable to look him in the eye. "And... He's gonna do the opposite for me." He managed to glance up, clearly uncomfortable. "He's gonna make me look... _good_."

"WHAT?!"

"If it works out," Osamu's voice sounded like he was underwater to him, "He's gonna sign a contract with me and ma. One that'll... Let us live away from dad."

"... And what about me?"

Osamu didn't answer.

"... I see."

"'Tsumu," Osamu reached out, "I'm sorry—"

"No," Atsumu swallowed, swatting his hand away, "It's not _your_ fault. Ma took the deal, not you. I'll be fine."

 _("But for how long?"_ Oikawa's voice echoed in his head.)

"'Tsumu," Osamu tried again, more desperately, but Atsumu shut him down once more.

"I _know_ how much this means for ya," Atsumu insisted, trying to ignore the hollowness in his chest. "I _know_ how much ya hate dad."

That, Osamu could not deny. Finally, he seemed to accept Atsumu's compliance, but promised, "I'll make ma talk to Shō. We'll take you with us after the show's over. I won't let 'em separate us."

Atsumu did his best to smile. "'Course not." _Anythin' for you, 'Samu._

The hate comments, the anti-cafes, the pig—he would keep all that to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Atsumu backstory may span over 4 chapters instead of the original 3, but we'll see! I would like to keep it at 3, so hopefully it'll work out :)
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, hits, bookmarks, and comments. I never thought I'd get so much or make it this far, tbh 0.0
> 
> ALSO!! THE LOVELY MXII MADE AN EDIT FOR SHARD SOCIETY!! It's my first time getting anything like this, and when I finally saw it, it was past 3am in my (AEDT) time. Please go watch it and leave her some comments, because it's honestly bloody amazing and she worked very hard on it.
> 
> [shard society edit WATCH IT AHH](https://www.instagram.com/p/CECbal4g_4S/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)


	26. The Tale of Miya Atsumu (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu will do anything for his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Strong language, implications of domestic abuse

**July — September, 2008**

It was hard. Atsumu thought he would be able to take it in stride like he did with most things, but this was _different_. This wasn't like the kids back in Yako Junior High, who whispered behind his back every opportunity they got just because they were losers who couldn't score. The people behind the screens were like shadows in the dark, their identities completely indiscernible. They criticized every action he performed, found fault with every word that passed through his lips.

 _But still._ He set a volleyball to himself in his bed. Shō had moved them to a different location, a boarding house of sorts. It wasn't as fancy as the hotel, but it was _okay_.

"I'm home!"

_At least ma's happy. Tch._

The volleyball landed in his hands and didn't go back up. Atsumu pushed himself up and out of bed, padding to the kitchen where his mother had just returned from a lunch with the director and some other staff members and parents. She was _glowing_.

His fingers itched—he wanted to _slap_ the smile off her face. "Where's 'Samu?" Some of the kids had been invited, too—Osamu had been one of them. Hanae probably would've been there, too, if she hadn't gotten eliminated a week or so ago. It had been so out of the blue—as if she had _wanted_ to be kicked from the show.

"The director took them out for ice-cream," explained Akari, not looking at him as she drew out a big packet of MSG from her grocery bag.

"Seriously?"

Akari finally gazed at him, her features softening. "Atsumu... Do you hate me?"

"What?" Atsumu flinched back. "I... 'Course not, ma." Truthfully, though, he wasn't sure. On one hand, she was his mother—the very woman who had brought him into this world. But... There were too many 'buts' about it. _I dunno if I hate ya. But I know I don't love ya, either._

The woman sagged, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She didn't respond, just started unpacking the groceries again.

Atsumu didn't help her.

"You know," Akari said eventually, tossing the bag into a basket on the floor. "You don't have to read those comments, Atsumu. They're just words and nonsense."

"Duh."

She cocked a brow, not very impressed with his attitude. "Well, I'm glad you understand." She tapped her finger on the table, where she had placed two nondescript boxes. "But don't make me regret this."

"Hm?" Atsumu's gaze drifted to the boxes, eyes widening when he realized. "Are those...?"

"Yep." Akari opened one of them, revealing a shiny black phone. "This is for you. Your first phone, Atsumu."

"Whoa...!" The dark clouds receded for the meantime, Atsumu gingerly taking the box from her and admiring the new gadget. It was a flip phone—not one of those fancy new smartphones, but still stylish. Still, it didn't feel right exactly. There was a weight that came with the gift, that filled his mouth with sand. It felt like a reward. But one for keeping his head down and his mouth shut. Was this supposed to somehow help compensate for the wringer he was being put through? "Thanks, ma."

"I thought if was time for you to finally have one," Akari stated. "You're in middle school, after all, even if your academics have been on pause for a while..." She shook her head. "It's not much. You'll be able to catch up."

"Uh huh." Atsumu picked up the box that was meant to be Osamu's, too, setting his own aside. Upon opening the lid, he found that his brother's phone was a different color—a pearly silver as opposed to Atsumu's midnight black.

"Here, add my contacts, and I'll buy a SIM card later..."

Osamu came back in the late afternoon.

* * *

It was easier to sneak out of bed now that he and Osamu had separate beds. Atsumu took full advantage of this, going to where the laptop was being charged and taking a seat on the carpet. He hastily keyed in the password, opened up the internet browser, and typed in his own name in the search bar.

Everything had escalated. _Had_ been escalating for a long time, like a marching band from hell stalking closer and closer to him.

The amount of hate forums had multiplied by a large number, and there were now videos on Spacebook and YooTube where people—dumb teenagers, mostly—laughed hysterically as they held his picture over a fire. There were a few compilations depicting his poor behavior, too, all of them with an alarmingly high number of views. It had gone international as well—Atsumu had seen a few Chinese and Korean comments, though he didn't bother translating them. The Japanese ones were already enough.

It was not uncommon to see Osamu's name caught up in the mix of things, too. Shō's plan had worked—by casting Osamu in a favorable light and Atsumu in an unfavorable one, the views and ratings had gone up astronomically. Osamu gathered a lot of fans as a result, while Atsumu...

He let out a breath as he tilted his head back, the crown of his head bumping gently against the wall. _I guess some things never change._

**HOW TO TELL THE MIYA TWINS APART! GOOD VS. EVIL!**

**Miya Atsumu needs to be held in a mental ward, and here's why**

**Top 10 Bratty Moments by Miya Atsumu**

**Every time Osamu was done with his twin**

**Miya Osamu Fan Cafe!**

**THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MIYA ATSUMU: WHY SPOILING YOUR KIDS IS A BAD IDEA IN THE LONG RUN!**

_Yeah, yeah. Talk all you want._

_It's not like it matters to me._

_Like ma said, they're just words._

Atsumu rubbed his eyes.

_It doesn't hurt._

_It **doesn't**._

* * *

"I can't do this anymore."

The words came tumbling out one day. He didn't mean to say it. He was sure he could take more. But they came out anyway as he walked through the door, and Atsumu tossed his bag onto the floor, almost hitting Osamu with it.

"'Tsumu?" Osamu blinked, watching him storm off to their room.

"Leave him," Akari advised, but Osamu ignored her.

Atsumu heard his footsteps before he lifted up his head from the pillow. With a low groan, he found himself staring into Osamu's grey eyes. "Whaddya want...?"

"You look like hell," Osamu deadpanned.

"Yeah, well..."

"You've been gettin' up early again, haven't ya?" accused Osamu. "'Tsumu, you dumbass! Didn't I tell ya to just ignore 'em?"

With a sudden burst of energy, Atsumu sat up with a loud grunt. "It ain't easy, okay?!" The mattress wobbled; Atsumu bobbed up and down momentarily. "The things they say...! I can't stop readin' 'em, okay?!"

"Why not?!"

_"I don't know!"_

"Atsumu! Osamu!" Akari came around the corner. "What is going on?"

"'Tsumu's been readin' the comments again."

Atsumu saw red. "'Samu, you snitchin' _bastard_!" He tackled his twin onto the floor, but Akari pulled him off before he could do anything.

_"Atsumu!"_

Osamu got up, looking stricken. "Dammit, 'Tsumu...!"

"Both of you, that's enough," Akari reprimanded, scowling. "I'm going to settle this nonsense once and for all. We're going to read all of this together and laugh at it. Because that's just what they are— _laughable_."

Atsumu didn't know what else he'd been expecting from the woman, but it certainly wasn't this. He hadn't even expected her to address this at all. So, against his better judgement, they all sat down in front of the laptop, both boys sitting on either side of Akari. As they scrolled through the hate, Atsumu's ears grew redder and redder, and Osamu's cheeks lost more and more color.

"Honestly," Akari clicked her tongue, "Were these written by children? I can't believe how obsessed you are over them, Atsumu."

Somehow, this was more humiliating.

Atsumu clenched his fists. "I—"

"Shut up."

Akari frowned, then turned to Osamu. They both did. "Osamu?"

"I said shut up, ma." Osamu stood, his chair screeching as he trembled.

"Osamu—!"

Without warning, Osamu grabbed the laptop and threw it across the room. It smashed into pieces against the wall, and whatever Atsumu had been about to say completely fizzled out of his brain. "Those arrogant, stupid, _stupid_ pigs!" He scrambled around the table to stomp on the remaining pieces. "I'll kill 'em! _I'll fuckin' kill all of 'em—!_ "

_"Osamu, stop! That's enough!"_

"How can ya stand this?!"

Osamu was talking to him, realized Atsumu. His brother's chest was heaving up and down, his hair tangled and unruly. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Atsumu merely replied, "'Cause I'm doin' it for you, jerk."

"If I knew it would get this this bad, I wouldn't have letcha...!" Osamu sagged like a rag-doll, his energy sapped.

"Atsumu..."

He glanced at his mother. "Yeah, ma?"

"I'll talk to Shō," Akari promised. "About you leaving. I'm sure it won't be a problem."

Atsumu remembered the last time she had made such a vow.

But he grinned anyway, with childish glee that never reached his eyes.

There was a beat.

"I'll clean this up," said Osamu.

* * *

"Stop. Please."

Atsumu, his eyes ringed with dark circles like a raccoon's, was kneeling down at the depository of the vending machine when he first heard the alarm in her voice. His hair was a mess—he hadn't washed it in days. But it didn't matter anyway—maybe it was evil of him, but he was ditching the show. Akari was already talking to the director in his office about it.

The voice had come from around the corner. Curious, Atsumu collected his drink—a lemon soda—and peeked around the wall to see Chen and Miwa, both of their faces twisted in an unpleasant expression. There was something oily about the scene, and Atsumu grimaced, waiting to see what would happen next.

"I'm not interested," Miwa told him firmly, even though she was backed up against the wall. "Leave me _alone_ , Chen."

"Just one night," Chen insisted, and Atsumu felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up.

 _Are you frickin' shittin' me right now?_ He glared at Chen's side profile, clenching his hand around his drink can. _That slimy bastard!_

"I have a boyfriend."

"No. You _don't_."

Miwa froze. Then she bared her teeth at him. "And what the hell would _you_ know?! Have you been _stalking_ me or something?!"

"I don't need to stalk anyone when you've made it so blatant, you slut! You think nobody knows? You think that nobody knows that you've been sneaking around the damn set with—"

It was probably high time for Atsumu to find an adult to diffuse the situation, but one had already presented herself before him. Atsumu observed, intrigued, as Takagi rushed past him and shoved Chen away from the stylist.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Takagi hissed, pointing a finger at him as she pulled Miwa aside. Atsumu could see her face clearly now—she looked positively terrified; her face was ghostly white and there was sweat visibly beading at her forehead. "This is _highly_ unprofessional!"

"Oh, please," Chen drawled, putting his hands into his pockets in a perfect picture of nonchalance. "As if you can say anything about professionalism, _Assistant_."

"I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Stop acting dumb, the both of you. I'm not fucking blind." Atsumu actually took a step back when he sauntered forward to stand over Takagi's slight form. She was even shorter than Miwa, and Chen towered over her by two heads. "Stop making me out to be the bad guy here. If I'm disgusting, then you two are even _worse_."

Takagi was trembling. "How _dare_ you."

"What? Am I wrong?" Chen tilted his head in devilish innocence. "It's not right, you know. At least you have the decency to sneak around. No one wants to see two _women_ going at it in broad daylight."

"It's not like that!" Miwa protested, more distressed than Atsumu had ever seen her. Strands of her hair were flying all over the place, and she struggled to flatten them as she passed her hand through her hair. "I... I promise you."

"You don't have to lie. He already knows."

"Who does?"

"Who do you think? Shō knows. Soon, everyone will, too."

Miwa held Takagi up when the brown-haired woman almost fell to her knees in shock. "You... You're a _monster_."

Chen threw back his head and laughed, the sound sending chills down Atsumu's spine. "Don't be name-calling now. You're not exactly in a position to be lashing out, Kageyama-san. Consider this a warning. Shō knows everything. That you're lesbians, and that you plan to smear his name because of that Atsumu kid."

"It's not right!" Miwa shouted. "He's only a _child_! You know what, I don't care if people know about me. Liking men and women... Who gives a shit, honestly? Right, Chiasa?" When Takagi didn't answer, she deflated. "Chiasa?"

"... They'll kill me..."

Atsumu couldn't bear to listen anymore. He turned away from the situation and slumped against the wall, next to the vending machines. Just what the hell was going on? Was this about him? His name had been mentioned toward the end, but... _Likin' men and women? Are Kageyama-san and Takagi-san gay?_ Atsumu cracked his soft drink open and took a sip, hoping that it would help. It didn't. Not really. _Is that really a big deal...?_ Another gulp. _Ugh, dammit..._

The voices died down. They would probably be emerging from the hallway soon, and they'd see him. Atsumu got up and went somewhere else—it didn't matter where, as long as they were none the wiser of his eavesdropping. He arrived in front of the closed door that led to Director Shō's office. Then he pushed the door open, and all eyes were on him. Shō was seated at his desk, and his mother sitting opposite him. To his surprise, though, there was another person—a pale girl in her late teens sitting next to the director. She was wearing a light blue summer dress, her hands folded in her lap.

"Ah, Atsumu-kun," Shō broke the silence first, "You have good timing. Why don't you take a seat?"

Atsumu grunted, pulling up a chair next to his mother. Their arms didn't touch.

Perhaps he had been glancing at the teenager too often or too blatantly, because Shō said, "She is... a friend of mine."

"Hello," the girl greeted, dipping her head slightly. "My name is Hirakawa Noriko."

Atsumu mirrored the gesture. "Uh. Hey." Deciding to forget about her presence for now, he focused his attention on Shō. "Whaddya want? I'm quittin' the show no matter what."

"Yes, and I understand that." Shō pulled out a sheet of paper from one of his drawers and placed it on the table. Atsumu leaned forward warily.

"What is this?"

"For your silence," Shō explained with the tone of an elementary school teacher. He pushed it toward them. "To put it bluntly, I can't have you running your mouth about things, no matter how fantastical they sound. Should you sign this now, I'll offer your brother, Osamu-kun, the opportunity of a lifetime to work with me."

Atsumu stared at the innocent piece of paper, full of words and clauses and laws that he didn't understand. Then his gaze shifted to the blank space at the bottom where he was supposed to sign his name. There was a space for the signature of a guardian, too—Akari had already scribbled the kanji of her name on the line.

His silence for the success of his brother.

 _What about me?_ The question was on the very tip of his tongue. _What do I get outta this?_

But they were all looking at him. Expecting him to make the right choice. The smart choice.

"Well?" prompted Shō.

"Atsumu," Akari said tentatively, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Atsumu's throat bobbed. He picked up the pen. It was heavy in his hand.

"Stop," Hirakawa suddenly said, drawing their attention away from him. "Stop pressuring him. He's twelve, isn't he? You can't just dump a decision like that on him. At least give him time." She turned her pitiful gaze to the director. "Please?"

Shō sighed. "You're right, dear. I'll give you until the end of the competition to decide. Talk it over with your brother and your mother."

They were sent out after that. Akari closed the door behind them; all Atsumu could look at, though, was the contract and not his mother. "Ma," Atsumu said abruptly, still not looking at her. "I... I need ta be alone right now."

"Of course. I'll wait in the car. Your brother will be coming off the set soon, anyway."

Once again, Atsumu's legs worked on autopilot. He had pretty much committed the entire layout of the building to memory. It wasn't hard—the studio wasn't awfully big; clearly, the majority of the KidProdigy budget had gone to other places. He walked past the vending machines, past the door that said 'Do Not Enter Filming in Progress' and to the back rooms, where the contestants normally waited to be brought out.

Then his ears pricked when his name floated through the corridors.

"—Atsumu doesn't deserve this. I'm begging you, Chiasa."

_That's Kageyama-san's voice._

Quickly, Atsumu pressed himself against the wall next to the ajar door. His half-finished soda can, which he had wrapped the contract around, was warm in his hands by now.

"I'm sorry," Takagi's voice came next, sounding thick and muffled. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm... We shouldn't see each other anymore."

"W-what?"

"Miwa, they'll _kill_ me if they find out. My family... They'll never accept me. This can't continue! Please, I'm begging _you_ , Miwa. This never happened, okay? We were never in love. There was no relationship. And there was no devil's editing."

"... You said you wanted to help him."

"That was before they found out about us! Do you know what Shō and even Chen could do to me?! They'll _ruin_ me. I'll _die_. Even if I'm not beaten to death, I'll be shunned forever. I know I'm selfish and a coward, but...I'm not strong enough." She sobbed. "I'd rather him than me. Oh _god_ , I'd rather him than me."

"Then... What now?"

"I think... I need to let you go."

Her voice was frosty. "You already have. I won't tell anyone, anyway, so you have nothing to worry about."

"I know, but... I'm sorry. Miw— _Kageyama-san_. You're fired."

* * *

Atsumu threw his soda into the bin just before the kids started streaming out of the studio. He leaned against the wall, shoulders hunched, as he watched them go by, all chattering excitedly. There were fewer of them than before—they had already reached the pointy end of the competition. Some of them glanced at him when they walked past, but most ignored his slumped form.

At some point, he took the contract out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it, holding it up in front of his face so he wouldn't have to see them.

From his peripheral, he saw a blob of reddish-brown. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was none other than Misumi Megumi, still in the competition despite her weak-willed personality.

_Guess she must've been an alright cook after all._

Before he could tell her to go away, she bowed to him, blurting out, "I'm sorry!"

He narrowed his eyes at her bent figure. "What _for_?"

"Just..." Megumi faltered. "Everything."

"Save it. I don't need yer pity."

Megumi shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Ah... Okay... I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll just go."

"Wait."

She turned around, bewildered. "Yeah?"

"Have you seen 'Samu?"

"Oh, he and a few kids stayed behind. They were the top four for today, and the judges wanted to talk to them."

Atsumu sent her on her way after that. It wasn't difficult. There was no reason for her to stick around, and they both knew it. They weren't friends. They didn't even like each other. The only thing that they had in common was that they were both unfortunate in their own way.

The flow of children ended not long after she left. Atsumu faced the left, still waiting for the stragglers to come out as well.

"Hey, if it isn't Atsumu-san!"

He whipped his head around so fast he almost bashed his temple against the wall. "Wha—?! Oikawa?!"

Oikawa and a friend Atsumu vaguely recognized were approaching him, the former wearing a blue t-shirt while the later had a black singlet with a beetle skull on it. Pretty badass, but Atsumu still didn't know his name so it didn't really matter. "What's with that reaction, huh?" Oikawa teased, a lilting smile on his face.

"Anyone sane would have that sort of reaction to you," his friend sniped.

Atsumu decided right then that he was okay.

"How mean, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa was affronted. "You didn't have to come with me, you know."

"You need to be babysat at all times."

Oikawa harrumphed. "Whatever, Iwa-chan. Anyway," he turned back to Atsumu, "I just came to see this place one last time." He had been eliminated last week. "Hey, Atsumu-san? Is everything good on your end? I haven't gotten any texts from you."

"No phone, remember?" grumbled Atsumu, pretending that his mother had never gifted him or Osamu their first phones. "And like I'd ever text ya..."

From the puzzled tilt of his lip, 'Iwa-chan' probably had no idea what was going on. So Oikawa hadn't blabbed about anything, it seemed. _Good._ The contract was scrunched in his hand. _I don't need ta to be blamed for another thing I didn't do..._

"See you around then?" Oikawa said, a little more tenderly than usual.

"See ya _never_ ," Atsumu replied.

They left soon after, and he was alone again, but not for long. Osamu and the other top four kids were finally let out by the staff, and talking among themselves as they approached the lobby. As soon as Osamu spotted Atsumu there waiting, he said goodbye and ditched the other kids.

"Hey," Osamu greeted, a little breathlessly. "I thought you were quittin'. Why're ya here?"

Atsumu glanced around before saying, "No reason." Osamu didn't need to know about the contract yet. "Race ya to the car?"

Osamu frowned. "Hey, wait—"

But Atsumu had already dashed off.

"'Tsumu, ya damn loser, get back here!"

Lying to his brother had never really been a problem for him. Atsumu did it all the time—a habitual liar, Osamu liked to call him. He borrowed Osamu's stuff without giving it back, wore his clothes without his permission, and always pretended that it wasn't him who ate the last pudding cup.

Atsumu laughed as Osamu's footsteps, accompanied by some expletives, started up behind him. _Ah... Sorry, 'Samu._

* * *

**January, 2009**

Filming ended sometime in early January. Osamu didn't win, but he was damn close. It snowed this winter, and Atsumu was adjusting his scarf when they stepped out of the airport. One of their mother's friends were picking them up. Akari was pushing a trolley with all of their luggage—old and new alike—and the twins followed close behind. Frost crunched beneath the soles of their shoes as they crossed the road to the car park.

"She's doing rounds," said Akari when the make and model of her friend's car was nowhere to be seen. "To avoid parking fees."

"Huh," said Osamu.

Atsumu tucked that life hack away for the future.

Their driver came through eventually, though, and they all got in. The air conditioner was blasting hot air out at full power, and Atsumu all but melted in his chair. All his muscles, previously stiff from the cold, loosened up until he was little more than a languid feline on a warm summer's day.

Akari and her friend made conversation, most of the contents pertaining to Osamu, during the drive, while the boys stared out the window. Osamu—who had also been gifted an MP3 player alongside his phone—had his earbuds in.

There was... distance.

But, finally, Osamu took out one earbud and offered it to Atsumu.

Wordlessly, Atsumu accepted it.

"It's good," he murmured.

Osamu gazed at him wearily. Atsumu didn't do quiet and defeated. It just wasn't him. He swallowed a lump in his throat, speaking up a little louder, "You're such an idiot, 'Tsumu."

A little of the fire he had come to associate with his bull-headed twin returned. "What was that?"

"You're an idiot," Osamu repeated, more firmly this time. Then, to Atsumu's horror, his brother's bottom lip began to tremble, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. "'T-Tsumu, you...!"

"O-Oi," Atsumu punched him lightly in the shoulder, grinning weakly, "What's gotten into ya? What are ya—some baby?"

Through his tears, Osamu glared at him. "Shuddup!" Roughly, he wiped the tears away from his eyes. "You think I like cryin' in front of ya?"

"Boys?" Akari peered around the headrest. "Is everything okay back there?"

"We're fine, ma," Atsumu answered just as Osamu blew his nose into a tissue with the same aggression as he did when he spiked at a ball. _'Samu's cryin'? 'Cause of me?_

Osamu cast him a look that he couldn't entirely discern but didn't say anything. And just like that, Atsumu fell into his own world, which spun with the same rhythm as the music flowing in their heads.

 _Home..._ He wasn't sure if he wanted to run far from it or collapse on the front porch of his house. The months had been hell, no matter how much it embarrassed him to admit. Some familiarity would do him good. But with that familiarity came...

"When you get home..." Akari spoke so softly that Atsumu almost didn't hear her. "Stay in your room. Your door doesn't have a lock, but maybe you can put a chair against the knob. Don't open the door until I knock three times."

Atsumu's heart dropped to his stomach and Osamu sat up almost violently, his brow twitching.

"Ma," Osamu said, and Atsumu could practically feel the _fear_ leaking from him. It was as suffocating as the nights he had spent curled up against the wall in their lodgings and going through every single hate comment or forum he could find. "Ma, what are—?"

"I'm divorcing your father."

A hushed silence descended upon them. The only thing that Atsumu could hear was Osamu's shallow breathing and the rumble of the car as it cruised down the highway. If he looked outside, it was an endless landscape of snow and twisting branches reaching for the smoke-colored skies. The MP3 player—which he had taken from Osamu at some point during the drive to change the song—felt like lead in his hands, slick with perspiration.

Atsumu wiped his palms on his jeans, trying to find something to say. This was one of the things he'd been waiting his entire life for. The day they would finally be free of Miya Hozumi. "Are," he gulped, "Are you gonna be okay? Ma? Ma!"

Akari had zoned out. She snapped back into reality, though her eyes were faraway in the rear-view mirror. "Oh. Yes, I'm sorry, Atsumu, I... I'm sure I'll be fine. It'll be like any other time. He won't... Kill me or anything drastic."

"Do ya know that, though?" Akari's friend piped up, sounding deeply troubled. "That Hozumi's always been a good fer nothin' bad ol' apple. Rotten to the core, I tell ya."

"She's right, ma," Osamu agreed shakily.

Akari sighed. "Do _not_ do this with me right now. I can handle your father. I've been dealing with him for over a decade already, so let it rest."

"Right," Atsumu ground out, remembering the contract that he had handed in to Shō before they left Miyagi.

Soon, none of them would have to put up with Hozumi any longer.

* * *

Akari waited a few days before dropping the news. Atsumu knew this much because the household was at relative peace in the days that followed their return. Their father was rarely at home, anyway; between his fruitless job searching, he spent his time and money at bars and pachinko. But peace, Atsumu had come to find, was very rarely an enduring thing.

"It's happenin'," Osamu burst into the room as soon as Atsumu heard the tell-tale noise of glass shattering against the wall, "Holy shit, it's happenin'." He seemed a combination of excited and terrified, and Atsumu honestly couldn't blame him—not when he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his throat and splatter against the back of his teeth, bared in a nervous smile.

It was just after dinner; the clock read seven-thirty exactly. Osamu placed a heavy box of their old toys against the door.

They climbed under the covers and curled up like foxes in the bottom bunk—Atsumu's bunk.

"D'ya think she'll be okay?" whispered Atsumu. He could feel Osamu's arm pressing against his.

"Sure," Osamu muttered, not sounding confident at all.

"Sure," repeated Atsumu.

The voices rose. More yelling and smashing.

"Why did you lie to me?"

Atsumu startled. "What?"

"You lie all the time," continued Osamu, not looking at him. "About small stuff. My clothes. My pencils. My puddin'. But... Why didn't you tell me about the contract?"

Atsumu lowered his gaze, spacing out at the floor. What was he even supposed to say? Sorry? _But I'm not sorry._ "So ma told ya, huh?" He sounded so small. So pathetic. Maybe his own weakness should have disgusted him, but he was too tired for it.

"Not just that," Osamu growled. "She got an email last night. From the director. It's my contract—and she's already signed it."

"Oh." That made sense. He had already signed his own contract for his silence a week ago. That now begged the question—did Osamu know about Atsumu's contract or was he only referring to his own?

"'Tsumu. I know everythin'."

 _Ah._ "Well, that makes things easier."

Osamu's elbow jabbed his cheek. "What's that supposed ta mean?"

"Nothin'," Atsumu said. "But we won, right? I stuck my neck out, but it was worth it."

Akari's shriek echoed throughout the house. _"I AM DONE! I AM ABSOLUTELY_ DONE _WITH YOU, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF_ SHIT _!"_

Hozumi's bellow came next. _"FINE, YA FUCKIN'_ CUNT _! I'LL SIGN THOSE PAPERS! THEN YOU CAN'T EVER SAY THAT I AIN'T NEVER MADE YA HAPPY!"_

Osamu turned on his MP3 player and offered an earbud to Atsumu, who took it. Music blared through their ears. "So ma didn't tell ya."

Atsumu raised a brow. "Tell me what?"

"In the contract... The one for _me_..." Osamu stared at the wall; Atsumu followed his line of vision to see the volleyball poster they had bought together after years of collecting spare change off of sidewalks and playgrounds. It was worn and basic—the silhouette of one of Brazil's top volleyball players spiking a ball with such force that it supposedly left a trailing blaze of fire. At the top, it read in bold: **¡LENDAS NUNCA MORREM!**

 _'Legends never die'._ "Stop wafflin' and tell me already, 'Samu."

Finally, Osamu managed to look at him. "They're gonna separate us. Ma's gonna take me to Shō, but... He's not lettin' ya come with us."

Really, he should have seen it coming the moment Shō offered to buy his silence. The more isolated Atsumu was, the more powerless. Atsumu exhaled sharply, letting the bombshell sink in. It wasn't the end of the world. Osamu would have a happy life, at least, even if he wasn't there to see it—

"But they need my signature. So I'm not gonna sign the contract."

"What?!" Atsumu nearly hit his head against the bottom of Osamu's bunk. "Why?!"

"Whaddya mean _why_?" retorted Osamu. "I told ya, I ain't lettin' 'em separate us!"

"But ya can't just...!" _Throw away everythin' ya worked for._ Was Osamu, perhaps, dense? This was the chance of a lifetime—the opportunity Osamu needed to grab with both hands and feet and never let go of if he wanted to escape their father. From the sound of it, Akari had already shoved the divorce papers in Hozumi's face, too, which was even more reason for Osamu to sign.

Miya Atsumu, at his core, was a selfish boy. He never helped his mother with housework, back-talked her all the time, and freely spoke of how awful his father was to the kids at school. He copied Osamu's homework, cheated off the girl in front of him during math exams, and sneaked laxatives in the English teacher's coffee so that he would forget to assign them homework in his rush to the bathroom. He wore Osamu's clothes, ate Osamu's snacks, and used Osamu's stationary—all without his permission.

Miya Atsumu was a selfish boy, when it came down to things, he loved fiercely—especially his other half. There was little he wouldn't do for Osamu.

Even if it meant parting ways with him.

"Who cares?"

Osamu stared at him, astonished. "'Tsumu?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Atsumu forced a yawn, one that came out terribly natural. "It doesn't matter if we're together or not. It's not like anythin' will be different."

Osamu scrunched up his nose. "You're lyin'."

"I'm not. Stop actin' like you know anythin' about me." Every word cut a new hole in his heart—for there was no one else except Osamu who knew _everything_ about him. He let out a low chuckle. "In the end, yer just like _ma_."

The front door slammed. Hozumi had stormed out.

In the adjacent room, Akari began to weep.

"'Tsumu, what the hell are you talkin' about?"

Atsumu turned down the music. "I'm talkin' about _you_ , dammit!" Anger surfaced easier than he had anticipated, and he had to wonder—briefly—just how much of it was real and how much of it wasn't. "You... You've always been the golden child! You think I'm fuckin' blind or somethin'?! Ma treats ya like a god, and I'm just the disappointment!"

The color seeped out of Osamu's cheeks. "'Tsumu—"

"No!" Atsumu kicked the covers off and flipped out of bed, staggering a little before standing up. "I'm _done_. It pisses me off when you think yer so much better than me! If I got that contract, I would've signed it the moment it came outta the printer!"

"You're missin' the point!" Osamu yelled, standing up as well and grabbing Atsumu by the collar of his sweater. "You think this is 'cause I think I'm _better_ than ya?! Newsflash, ya braindead idiot, I'm doin' this because of _you_!"

"Why?!" Atsumu grabbed his twin's wrist but didn't bother to wrench it away. "You're the one that's missin' the point! Don't you _get it_ , 'Samu?" He chuckled lowly—it was harsh and cruel. "I told ya, didn't I? If everythin' was reversed... I would've signed it fresh off the printer."

He could see the moment the words hit him. It was eerie, almost, watching what was his own face slacken in disbelief and utter _hurt_. Atsumu knew he was destined for hell, but Osamu was fated to bother the gods in heaven.

Osamu let go of his shirt.

"Do you geddit now?" Atsumu said, softly. Condescendingly. "'Samu. _Osamu_. I don't _need_ you. In fact," he took a deep breath, "When you're gone... that's when I'll finally get ta be happy for once in my fuckin' _life_."

For a while, there was just silence as they simmered. Atsumu kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his heart pounding. Then, when he looked up, he saw a fist flying toward his face. It was too late for him to dodge—although he wasn't sure that he would've wanted to, anyway. Osamu sent him flying onto the floor. He didn't even have time to catch his breath, with Osamu yanking him by the shirt collar again.

" _Fuck_ you!" spat Osamu. "You don't _need_ me?! Huh?! Who's gonna get ya ass outta bed in the morning?! Who's gonna make ya breakfast, and letcha copy off his homework last minute because you're a total dumbass?!"

"I'll live!"

"Like hell! I'm yer brother—"

"Shut _up_!" Atsumu hissed. "You're not my _brother_."

Osamu headbutted him, and Atsumu _howled_. "Are you freakin' delusional?! You don't mean that!"

"How many times do I have to say it?!" screamed Atsumu, hoping to hell and back that Osamu didn't see the moisture in his eyes.

"Say _what_?! Say fuckin' _what_ , 'Tsumu?!"

"I'll only be happy when you're _dead_!"

Osamu's grip loosened. Then he got to his feet, took three steps backward, and waited for Atsumu to get up. He did, taking his time and begging whatever fates were out there that he would not break.

"Atsumu."

He looked up.

Tears fell from his brother's eyes, glinting under the flickering ceiling light, but Osamu made no move to wipe them away. "You're just like dad."

* * *

It was sunnier than he was used to when he woke up, especially for winter. His eye was throbbing from where Osamu had hit him last night, and he made a mental note to put some ice on it later. Atsumu got out of bed, craning his neck up to try and glimpse Osamu. "'Samu?" he called dully. "You signin' or what?"

No answer.

Frowning, Atsumu climbed the ladder.

The bed was neatly made.

Seeing this, he climbed back down, noticing for the first time that most of Osamu's things had disappeared. Not all of them. Not most of them, even, but some things were simply not present anymore.

"They're not here."

Atsumu jumped, whipping around to see his father at the doorway. He didn't see him often—the hours that they were at home didn't overlap a lot. In fact, he was surprised his father was even home—he had thought Hozumi would be passed out in a bar somewhere in town.

Hozumi looked around the room without much emotion. "They left earlier this morning. The _both_ of 'em."

_Ah._

Osamu was gone.

_I guess that means..._

"Make breakfast for me," ordered Hozumi. "I'm starvin'." His father disappeared down the hall.

He glanced up at the poster that overlooked their— _his_ —room.

**¡LENDAS NUNCA MORREM!**

_I won._

So Atsumu did the only thing he could do in his victory—he _laughed_. He laughed, and laughed, until he was no longer sure why on earth the tears were flowing so fast and easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ahahahaha look's like we're going 4 parts now sorry guys lol rlly would've liked to keep it at 3 but hrrrngh
> 
> This week was incredibly rough and I had 2 near breakdowns over the span of 2 days so uhhh yeah sorry this chapter's not gonna be quality
> 
> But yeah, reviews/comments are love (please leave one if u can!), and if you like this story, please share it so more people can read it!
> 
> also here's a tidbit for ya, Miwa actually continues to protect Takagi years after the show is over, which is seen in The Tale of Kageyama (2) when she waves off Kageyama's inquiries about who taught her the pork roast recipe (it's implied Takagi taught her)
> 
> and guess whattt the ss ost 'Apart' is pretty much about the separation of these two


	27. The Tale of Miya Atsumu (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu's tale comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: abuse and bullying

_"I'll only be happy when you're_ dead _!"_

* * *

**April 2nd, 2009**

The moment he opened the door to his new class, all eyes turned to him. Atsumu, with his bag slung over one shoulder, did his best to ignore the gazes and shuffled in. He checked the seating chart—the teachers had put him in a spot near the back, right next to the window in the very last row. The girl in front of him didn't even bother hiding her curiosity, staring at him in a rather blatant manner.

"What?" Atsumu snapped, making her—and several others—jump from their chairs.

She smiled nervously. "Umm... Nothin'!"

 _Ugh, what a creepy girl..._ Scoffing under his breath, Atsumu dug out his earphones and Osamu's old MP3. For whatever reason, his twin had left it behind. For weeks, Atsumu had simply left it in his desk drawer. But then something—he wasn't sure what, exactly—prompted him to open it back up one day and use it. He shuffled through the music, a wicked sort of amusement bubbling within him. Osamu had so many classical pieces on the device, but Atsumu knew better. _His music taste's the same as mine._ Rock and pop. But Osamu had always had a pretentious streak—probably came from the three minutes of oxygen Atsumu had managed to breathe before him.

Their homeroom teacher—round, balding—waddled in as soon as the bell rang, a few students who had clearly run all the way to class shifting behind him. The teacher pushed his glasses up and stood at the front desk.

Introductions were had.

The girl in front of him turned out to be named Amino Maaya. After she provided to the class her name and some of her interests—horses, clarinet, and calligraphy—it was Atsumu's turn. Sighing, he removed his earphones and stood, hands in the pockets of his uniform shorts. "Hey," he drawled. "The name's Miya Atsumu. I play volleyball." And then he sat down.

"Generally," the teacher said cordially, hands held in front of his torso. "We like student introductions to be a little longer than that. Amino-chan, for example, did a very excellent introduction."

While Amino preened at the praise, Atsumu resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, that's cool. But I ain't got nothin' else ta say."

Everyone sucked in a breath.

The teacher cleared his throat. "Why don't we move on? You can all get to know each other better at lunch time."

Lunch time arrived all too soon, and all Atsumu wanted was to be left alone for the remainder of the day. Perhaps for the rest of middle school, and high school, too. However, his new classmates crowded around his little table in the back corner anyway. A few faces he recognized from his first year class (he was pretty sure Amino was one of them, actually, but he hadn't learned her name until today), but most of them were unfamiliar.

"You're Miya Atsumu?"

 _Man, just leave me alone..._ "I did say it was, didn't I?" Atsumu said in return, raising both brows at the boy who had asked. He smirked lightly. "Pay more attention next time, why don'tcha?"

"I was just makin' sure," the boy, Natsuo, said, lifting his arms defensively. He narrowed his eyes at Atsumu, who gladly mirrored the action. "Heh... So you're the infamous Miya..."

"The hell is that supposed ta mean?"

"Ahem. Ahem." Amino coughed delicately, drawing their attention to her. "Everyone, maybe you should give Miya-kun a bit of space." She brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her sparkly pink headband, which pulled back her bangs for all the world to see her forehead. "Please? Natsuo-kun?"

And ah, Atsumu realized, she was making the _eyes_. The pleading, puppy-dog eyes that he absolutely _detested_. Frail, wimpy, _pathetic_ —the same kind of nature that Misumi Megumi had displayed during their KidProdigy days. Only, there was something decidedly different about Amino. She hid it well, but Atsumu saw it—the cunning, manipulative streak that had been absent from Megumi's traits.

Natsuo was easy prey. "Sure, Amino-chan. Sorry—I didn't mean ta upset ya..."

"Good job, Casanova," Atsumu jibed, earning a glare from Natsuo and some of his friends.

"Miya-kun," Amino admonished. "Can't we all be friends?"

"Look at Amino-chan go," a girl whispered to her friend. "She used ta be one of the class presidents last year, ya know?"

"Don't be mean to Class President, guys!" came the unnecessary interjection from a tall, chubby boy. Atsumu forgot his name, but he was sure it was something like Ibuki. At Ibuki's outburst, more people chimed in.

"Yeah, guys, knock it off!"

"Miya-kun's just as mean in real life..."

"Push it, push it, Amino-chan!"

"Natsuo-kun, Miya-kun, you guys aren't cool for ignoring the Class President like that."

Amino let out a breathy laugh. "Aw, you guys..."

"Tch." Atsumu gave Amino a look. "Can ya call yer yes-men off? They're annoying." The class presidents—one girl and one boy, it typically was—had even been chosen yet, but everyone was already acting like Amino had any sort of authority over them.

"Excuse me?" Amino startled. "You mean my friends?"

"Sure, if ya wanna call 'em that. But we both know what they are to ya."

Amino was crestfallen. "That was cruel of you, Miya-kun. I think you should apologize to everyone here."

Atsumu yawned, grabbing his MP3 player from the recess in his desk and putting it on the tabletop. His classmates could only watch, outraged, as he plugged in his earphones and shuffled his playlist.

"Apologize right now, Miya-kun!"

"That's right! Say yer sorry to Amino-chan!"

"Amino-chan," Natsuo said. "Don't waste yer time on _this_ jerk."

 _What did I say?_ Atsumu tuned out the conversation around him. _Yes-men. Sheep. They're all the same._ If there was an upside to the time he had spent on the KidProdigy show, it was this—it was almost too easy for him to realize the difference between real and fake. Even—he peered up at Amino's unassuming form from underneath his eyelashes—when they were an expert at disguising themselves.

At the start of fifth period, their homeroom teacher, who also taught them mathematics, announced that it was time to pick who the class presidents would be for this year. It was a rushed and disorganized affair, one which Atsumu gladly stayed out of. Instead, he just kept his head down at the back, music blasting into his ears. Eyes at half-mast, he went through song after song before, finally, he pulled out his earbuds to see who had won the election.

Two names were on the board: _Amino Maaya_ and _Suna Rintarou_.

Amino winning was no surprise, but Atsumu couldn't even recall Suna's introduction.

The pair were called up to the front and congratulated, Amino even having the confidence to give the rest of them a dainty, princess-like wave. Suna, on the other hand, was almost utterly inexpressive—a combination of his physical features and his general disposition.

Even though nobody had asked, Amino straightened and began what Atsumu feared was a _speech_ at the front podium. "Everyone, I'd like to thank you all—"

"How did I even get voted?"

"Huh?" Amino stopped short, whipping around to look at Suna, who had spoken. "Excuse me?"

Suna ignored her. "I mean, seriously, you guys... This is just awkward now."

"Uh," their homeroom teacher tried to salvage the situation, "How so, Suna-san? Are the results really so surprising?"

"I'm moving houses in a few months," Suna explained. "And I'm gonna be enrolled in a new school, so... Yeah. It's awkward, don't you think, sir?"

Atsumu snickered.

"So, like..." Suna scratched the back of his head. "Can we just... not?"

"That's okay!" Amino practically shouted, lifting up her hand. "I can take care of both of our duties! Sir, if you'd just let me—"

"Now, now, don't get too arrogant."

 _Holy shit_ , a wide grinned spread across Atsumu's face, _this guy's a_ riot.

Amino blushed beet red, stammering, "Uhh, Suna-san, I'm not sure what you mean—"

"We have two class presidents for a reason," Suna interrupted her again, "You don't _actually_ think you can handle all the responsibility by yourself, right? Let Kawamori-sensei handle it."

"Suna-kun is right," said Kanamori. "We'll go with the third most popular candidate."

"That's Natsuo-kun!" somebody exclaimed.

 _Oh, great._ Atsumu's good mood immediately soured as Natsuo sauntered toward the front with the smuggest smile on his face. But Natsuo's triumph was short-lived, because Suna wasn't done.

"Aren't you already in a sports club?" Suna needled Natsuo, who faltered. "You're gonna burn out at this rate. Be careful, dude."

"O-oi!" Natsuo pointed at him. "You're in a sports club, too, aren'tcha?!"

"Yeah," Suna said blandly. "But I'm smart. Smart _er_."

Atsumu chortled, drawing the attention to him. "He's gotcha there, Natsuo," he jeered.

"Boys, please!" Kanamori exclaimed. "Settle down. Suna-kun, please take a seat."

It was weird, Atsumu would think later, because while Natsuo became the official class president, Suna Rintarou ended up being more of a leader than Amino and Natsuo combined.

* * *

Atsumu supposed he didn't look too wonderful in Suna's eyes. His blond hair—he had gotten the dye job halfway through the show, to help viewers differentiate between himself and his brother—had almost completely faded into its natural black; only the tips still remained yellow. In fact, he almost felt inadequate in front of the taller boy, especially when he was also standing on all fours in the school's koi pond, his math notebook splayed on his head.

"Need some help?" Suna eventually asked, breaking the staring contest.

"No," Atsumu refuted, his ears growing hot. "I'm _fine_."

Suna deadpanned. "Suit yourself."

Though Atsumu expected him to walk away, Suna just stood there, watching, as Atsumu picked himself up, uselessly squeezing the hem of his shirt. His math book slipped from his head and splashed into the pond, further soaking his pants. He could feel Suna's gaze boring into his very soul, even when all the other boy was doing was sucking out the contents his fruit jelly stick.

"Can you just _leave_?" Atsumu glared.

"Sure you don't need help?"

"I said I didn't, didn't I?"

Suna lowered the fruit stick. "Who was it? Natsuo and his cronies?"

Atsumu snorted. " _Cronies_. Who even says that?"

"Shut up, Miya. Answer the damn question already."

"Fine. Here's yer answer."

Suna didn't seem very impressed by Atsumu flipping the bird at him. "You're being bullied, aren't you?"

 _Bullied._ It was a word that denoted him as a victim of his peers' cruelty, and a bitter pill to swallow. So Atsumu spat it out. "Stop it, Sunarin. You don't know _anything_."

"Maybe," said Suna. "But I _did_ see Natsuo kick a soccer ball at your head the other day. _And_ I also saw him and his _cronies_ shove you into the pond five minutes ago."

"Sure, Natsuo's an asshole!" Atsumu snapped. "If he broke his neck, I wouldn't care! But I... I'd...!"

"You'd what? Never let yourself be bullied?"

_"I'm not being bullied!"_

At that, Suna simply sighed. Then he walked to the edge of the pond and held out a hand. "Just get outta the pond water, Miya. You're scaring the fish."

As if the universe wanted to prove his point, a fat koi fish thrashed against Atsumu's heel. Deflated, Atsumu took Suna's hand wordlessly and allowed himself to be helped. He never met Suna's eyes— _couldn't_.

"You should get changed," Suna continued, "Into your PE uniform, if those guys haven't gotten to it yet."

"They shouldn't have," muttered Atsumu, still staring at the ground. The concrete had darkened from the water dripping off his form. "No way they'd know my locker combination."

Suna smirked. "Probably. They're monkey-brained idiots. Come on," Atsumu wheezed when he slapped his back, the brief contact making an uncomfortably wet noise, "Let your class president walk you back."

"Yer not the class president," grumbled Atsumu.

"Whatever, dude. Just let me help you."

"But yer leaving soon, aren't ya?"

Suna slowed to a stop, Atsumu halting as well. "Yeah," Suna confirmed, not quite able to meet his querying gaze. "I am."

"Don't get close to me, then," Atsumu said harshly. "Don't even _try_ it."

"I..." Suna glanced briefly up at the cherry blossom tree looming over them. "I wouldn't dream of it. But you know what, Miya?"

Atsumu chewed on the inside of his cheek. "What?"

Suna paused before shaking his head. "Ah, forget it. Just remember—you're gonna have to let yourself be happy one day. Or else."

"Or else what?"

Atsumu remembered his mouth moving, but not the words he spoke that day.

* * *

**February, 2011**

For the short time Suna Rintarou had been present in Yako Middle School, he had left more of an impression on Atsumu than anyone else did. At least Atsumu could actually remember his deadpan face—he couldn't say the same for the rest of the faceless nobodies.

His second year had passed by with little incident—Natsuo had been a pain to deal with, but Atsumu had managed. At one point, he had even sent the other boy home with a black eye.

The kids still liked to talk, but Atsumu had settled in. Had made a name for himself among his peers.

"Nice kill!" one of Yako's cheerleaders yelled, shaking her pom-poms in the air in unison with five other cheerleaders, all six of them in uniform. "Let's go, let's go, Junpei!"

"Ah, geez," Atsumu clicked his tongue, bumping shoulders with Junpei, the brown-haired outside hitter, "What're ya smilin' for, idiot?"

Junpei grumbled, "Am I not allowed ta be happy? Smilin' is a normal reaction ta cute girls shoutin' yer name..."

"Don't let it get to yer head," retorted Atsumu, narrowing his eyes. "That wasn't even the best ya could've smacked it."

"Ugh, whatever, dude. It went over, didn't it? _And_ we got the point."

"Wow, _congrats_ ," Atsumu said dryly. "For achieving the bare _minimum_." He patted Junpei's shoulder. " _So_ proud of you, man."

"Aw, shove off." Junpei pulled away from Atsumu, his brow flattening in a glare. "That set was too high, anyway."

" _What_ was that?"

If there was anything that Atsumu was one-hundred percent confident in, it was the accuracy of his sets. If he didn't have the skills to back it up, he would've never engaged Junpei in such a manner.

"You heard me," Junpei continued to blabber, "That set was too high—geh!"

Atsumu had grabbed a fistful of his jersey collar, sneering. "Now listen here, ya snot-nosed _drip_ , you don't get ta talk _shit_ about my setting when ya can't even get yer _fat_ head off the floor."

"Ugh...!" Junpei wavered, biting his lip. "Fine, just let me go already!" Atsumu released him; Junpei straightened. "Geez..."

Their practice match ended early, the captain claiming that two of their members had complained of pulled calf muscles. Pretty pathetic, but something that could cost them a real match in the future. Atsumu trudged after his team as they filed into the locker room, talking among themselves.

"Did you see Sakura-chan cheering me on today?"

"No way, dude, she was cheering _me_ on!"

"Nuh uh, _me_!"

"Hate to break it to you fellas," drawled Junpei, slinging an arm around two boys' shoulders. "But she was making heart eyes at _yours truly_ all afternoon."

 _At what? Your shitty spike?_ Atsumu stifled a cackle. His teammates at Yako were decent, he supposed, but they were nowhere close to fulfilling their potential—especially the hitters. And that was what pissed him off the most—he was putting his one-hundred and twenty percent into his sets and they were just messing about. _What a pain in my ass. The gap between us is so wide it ain't even funny. 'Samu would've been able to hit my sets_ —

His teammates in front of him jumped when Atsumu suddenly slapped both of his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut.

_No. 'Samu's gone._

If the internet was to be trusted, his brother was currently filming a kids game show in Tokyo. Atsumu had seen some pictures of the filming crew posted online—Osamu had only appeared in one of the photos, Akari standing with a tiny smile in the background.

"Hey, Miya," someone called from the across the locker room, "You gonna use the showers or nah?"

"Yeah, I will," Atsumu returned, unzipping his sports bag to reveal his school uniform and a towel. "Y'know," he went on, making cautious eyes turn to him, "I'm in really good form today. The feeling of the ball weighing against my palm, and the feeling of the pressure lifting has been _exceptional_. I can see all the incoming blocks crystal clear, too. So..." He held his chin up high, lifting a brow. "You guys got any problem with my setting? Lookin' at _you_ , Junpei."

"... No," Junpei muttered sulkily. "And you didn't hafta call me out in front of everyone..."

"Stop bein' a pussy, dude."

"You—!" Junpei slapped the end of his towel against the floor, a vein popping in his cheek. "Do you really fuckin' think you're all that?!"

"I'm better than _you_ , that's fer sure. Like, _loads_ better."

"Oi, you two," the captain reprimanded, "Stop arguin'. You guys are teammates, _not_ enemies."

"No, I'm sick of this!" Junpei pointed a wobbling finger at Atsumu, his teeth bared in a snarl. "Sick of him bossin' us around like that!"

"I'm not bossin' anyone around!" Atsumu snapped. "I _know_ what limits you all have—limits that you don't even know about! It ain't my problem that you're too incompetent to reach yer own damn potential! I'm not yer fuckin' babysitter!"

"Fuck you, Miya!"

"SHUT UP!" yelled the captain, effectively silencing them. "Another dumb word outta you two and I'll beat the snot outta ya both myself."

"Tch!" Atsumu folded his arms, fixing his scorching glare on the ground instead of Junpei's ugly mug.

Junpei grunted something before grabbing his towel and heading into a shower stall.

Atsumu was always one of the last people to shower—usually the very last. Today was one of those days; Atsumu emerged from the stall with a towel wrapped around his waist and another, smaller, towel slung over his shoulders. His hair was still damp, droplets of water dripping from the ends, which were now completely black. Though it'd been that damn director's suggestion, he had actually quite liked his blond hair—maybe he would dye it again in the near future.

"Hey, did you hear?"

"Huh?"

"About Miya."

The voices of two of his teammates floated through the room, and Atsumu paused in pulling his shirt over his head. There was a row of lockers separating him and the speakers—undoubtedly, they had either forgotten that Atsumu was still in the room or were still thinking that he was in the shower.

"What about him?" a third voice rumbled. Junpei's.

Atsumu continued to dress, wondering where the conversation was going. Gossip about him was not something he was unused to hearing—in fact, it was pretty common. He was somewhat of a controversial character among their peer group—probably because he didn't make much of an effort with people. He grabbed a towel and draped it over his head. His past with KidProdigy weren't exactly helping things either, and his classmates were not quick to forget. But ever since he had rejoined the volleyball, people had mostly left him alone. Even Natsuo, who had been determined to make Atsumu's life a living hell in second year.

 _It doesn't matter, though._ Soon, he would be headed for Inarizaki High, where he would reconnect with Aran, who was currently a first year. They weren't close at all, but Atsumu had faith in Aran's nature—he would not judge Atsumu from his past. _Unlike the rest of them._

Logically, he knew he wasn't helping his own case, but Atsumu saw little of his relationships and reputation to be salvaged from Yako.

"Didn't you know? He used to be a child star. A totally bratty one, too!"

"Aw, come on, dude," Junpei sighed. "That's old news. Everyone knows about that."

"Ah, but here's the thing..."

Their voices trailed off, and Atsumu realized that they had left the room. Irritably, he shoved his things into his sports bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Junpei and the others had already disappeared somewhere. He tried to push their mini conversation out of his mind. What new thing could have possibly arose from the ashes of his time in KidProdigy, anyway? It wasn't like Shō had any incentive to release even more bad press about him. The director already had Osamu in his clutches—what more could he want from Atsumu?

 _Ah, right._ Atsumu was walking through the gate when he remembered. _I'm supposed to see Kanamori-sensei about careers or something._ Sighing, he spun around on his heel and hiked back to the school building. It was just his luck today, though, because Kanamori was nowhere to be found in the faculty room.

"I think he went back to his homeroom," an English teacher informed him, pointing his pen toward the door where Atsumu had entered. "Class 3-2."

Atsumu dipped his head to the teacher before leaving.

He was combing through the corridors, checking each classroom halfheartedly, when a strange sight caught his attention.

_Is that Amino?_

The girl was bent over at the waist as she shoved some unidentifiable items into a locker at the back of the classroom. Once she was done, Amino stood and arched her back in a stretch; she startled when she noticed him staring from the doorway.

"A-ah, Miya-kun...!"

"What are you doin?" Atsumu went straight for the kill.

"Ahahaha... Well," Amino grinned at him, "Yuno-chan wanted me to put some snacks in my locker for tomorrow. It's Friday, after all, and our teacher allows us to eat in class between classes."

Right. Amino's parents owned a local supermarket. While small, it was constantly filled with customers, and her parents were sitting on wads upon wads of cash. "Really, now?" Atsumu's brow raised. "Just snacks?"

Swiftly, Amino clicked the locker shut. "Yes, Miya-kun. Just snacks. You know what... You'll see tomorrow. Have a nice afternoon, Miya-kun!"

 _What is she up to?_ After she left, he tried to rattle the locker open, but to no avail. _'You'll see tomorrow'...? What's that supposed to mean?_

When he got home, he dashed to his room before Hozumi could catch him. All of his homework went forgotten on Osamu's side of the study desk; Atsumu opened up his laptop and searched his name. The results he had once agonized so terribly in the past were still there, and he fought the urge to read them again. But there was no new information from what he could see, so he had to wonder what his teammates had been discussing about him. Amino's skittish behavior was odd, too—too strange for Atsumu to think that it was unrelated to him.

Someone knocked on his the door, the sound heavy. Atsumu's shoulders tensed. "Yeah, dad?"

"What're you doin' in there?"

"Homework." Atsumu put his earbuds in.

"Well, hurry up and do it. Then buy me dinner from the store. You know which one."

Atsumu rolled his eyes, knowing Hozumi wouldn't be able to see. "'Kay."

The door slammed shut.

Atsumu continued with what he was doing, scrolling through the student Spacebook page. Still, there was nothing out of place. He was about to call it a night when Natsuo updated his status.

 **Hamamura Natsuo** see y'all tomorrow, soldiers  
26s ago

Natsuo almost _never_ posted on Spacebook. He was always too busy with trying to get on the national stage with soccer—heck, he had even left Atsumu alone in favor of more practice time.

He debated replying to Natsuo's status, but decided against it in the end. It would only look foolish.

Whatever was happening tomorrow, Atsumu didn't care.

* * *

The morning came and went. All day, people stared at him—more than they usually did. Atsumu knew what they thought of him—they were just like everyone else, with their quick judgments and baseless condemnations. They avoided him more than they usually did, though, but the way they glanced at the floor was different this time around. It wasn't simply the typical disgust and disapproval. There was something... unusual.

It permeated the atmosphere, too, weighing down on Atsumu's shoulders along with everything else in his life. _It feels like..._ Atsumu side-eyed a bespectacled girl that had been looking at him with a sad expression. Flustered that she had been caught, she turned away, scribbling something in her notebook. Was he just imagining it? _Guilt?_

But for what?

He bumped into Amino in the hallway on his way to volleyball practice.

"Ah, Miya-kun!" Amino gave him a wobbly smile, her hand raised in greeting. She was clutching a book—one of their assigned reading books, Atsumu noticed—against her chest with her other arm. Whatever had taken place yesterday, she seemed to have forgotten about. "Hello!"

"Oh," Atsumu cocked his head, rather disinterested, "It's _you_."

Amino frowned slightly. "You know what," she finally said, breaking character for the first time in front of him. "I hope ya get what _you fuckin' deserve_."

Atsumu sneered. "And people think you're so _innocent_. Don't make me _gag_."

Inwardly, though, the words were worrying. It sounded as if... Things had already been set into motion.

"You'll see," Amino's tone trembled, "You'll see, Miya-kun. What the world really thinks about you." She grinned, the action more malicious than Atsumu had ever seen. He matched it.

"Do your _worst_."

Amino steeled her gaze before walking off, the heels of her shoes tapping against the corridor. _Sports shoes_ , Atsumu realized. She was wearing her sports shoes with her school uniform. That was a uniform violation in their school—someone like Amino wouldn't _dare_ walk around like this unless they truly had reason to. _Then what's her reason?_

He wondered if he would ever find out. That and what she had in store for him. Aside from the eyes that had been boring into the back of his head all day, everything else had gone as it normally would. Teachers assigned homework, students gossiped, and Atsumu's teammates slacked off.

"Oh."

"Ah."

Atsumu stepped into the locker room just as Junpei was leaving, the latter boy already wearing his volleyball jersey.

"Move it," growled Junpei.

Atsumu held his chin up high. "You first. What're _you_ doin' here anyway?" Junpei was always late to practice—it was abnormal to see him dressed before Atsumu, who was always on time, was.

At that, Junpei unexpectedly lowered his gaze. "Nothin'," he mumbled. "It's none of yer business, anyhow!" With that, he stepped around Atsumu, making sure to bump harshly against his shoulder, too. "We're in gym five today. Gym three's gettin' renovated."

"Dickhead," Atsumu hissed after him, stomping into the locker room.

To his surprise, it was completely void of the rest of the boy's volleyball team. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise—most of them came around this time to change into their sports jerseys. _So where_ are _they? Does that mean that jerk Junpei was the last one to get changed besides me?_ Was it, perhaps, daylight saving? Had everything been set an hour back or something? He normally relied on Osamu for these things. But classes had gone like usual, and he hadn't been late to school this morning.

 _Gym five, gym five..._ Atsumu wandered around a bit before finally finding it on the far end of the school. Yako was a big place that put heavy emphasis on sports, hence their extremely large sports facilities and fields. He pushed the double doors open, and—

Atsumu stopped just a few steps inside. _What... What is this?_

His teammates were here. He could see Junpei standing with the vice-captain with his arms crossed. But...

_Why is everyone else here, too?_

People he recognized from his day-to-day life stared at him with hateful eyes. Natsuo and his gang, Sakura the cheerleader, Amino...

_Amino! She—_

The first packet exploded upon the back of his head, upon impact. Blood spattered everywhere, seeping into his scalp and clumping in his hair. With one shaking hand, Atsumu reached up and gingerly touched where it had landed. It hadn't been painful, but...

He stared at his hand.

It reeked of animal blood.

"Pig!" a girl called. "That's always what yer callin' us, right?! Well, who's the pig now?!"

"Pig!" others echoed. "Atsumu's a pig!"

Another packet of blood splattered across his side, then another one on his front, dousing his jersey and shorts in thick pig's blood. Rivulets of red ran down his legs. One hit the front of his bowed head, and the velvety liquid trickled down his face.

_No._

The children continued to cry, "Pig! Pig! Pig!"

_No. This isn't real. This isn't real._

"Pig! Pig! Pig! Atsumu's a dirty pig!"

 _"STOP IT!"_ Atsumu covered his ears, screaming. _"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_

They stopped pelting him.

But he knew it wasn't because he had asked.

When he raised his head again, Amino was walking toward him.

A memory—Amino closing the locker and dodging his questioning—from yesterday flashed through Atsumu's mind.

A drop of blood fell from his bangs.

"Do ya see now?" Amino's voice cut through the air. "Do ya see now? What we think of you? What the _world_ thinks about you?! We _all_ saw yer true colors in KidProdigy, and in the way you've treated us. You _asked_ for this."

And something in him _snapped_.

"YOU _BITCH_!" Atsumu bellowed, pig's blood dripping from between his eyes as he threw himself at Amino. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion—he could see Amino's eyes widening bit by bit. The girl screamed when she was slammed to the ground, her headband flying off her head and landing at a stricken Natsuo's feet. "You don't know anythin'! _You don't fuckin' know a thing, you ignorant little brat!_ "

"Get off her!" shrieked Natsuo, tackling Atsumu before he could lay another hand on her.

The two of them crashed onto the floor, snarling and tearing at one another. A few students had gotten their phones out and were recording the fight, some grimacing at the smudges of crimson that they were leaving on the gym floorboards.

Amino was crying, hiding her face in her palms. The back of her hands were stained with blood, from Atsumu's clothes and body.

Eventually, others intervened to stop the fight, several boys—most of them members of the boy's volleyball team—pinning Atsumu to the ground. Opposite him, Natsuo was being helped up and reassured by some soccer players.

"I hope you've learned yer lesson," Junpei breathed into his ear.

"Are you that arrogant?!" Atsumu lifted his head, his baring his teeth at where Amino was hunched over, eyes still round. "Are you that arrogant, ya foul-mouthed, filthy, squealin' _pig?!_ 'The world'...! Who the _fuck_ is the world supposed ta be?! This shitty school?! _Do you guys think that highly of yourselves?! You're **trash**!_"

"Does it matter?!" Amino finally found her voice; it pitched into a screech. "Because if we're trash, then you're _worse_ _than trash!_ "

Everything that happened next was a blur to Atsumu. The entire situation was deescalated by a several staff members. According to the grapevine that would come later, some uninvolved students had found out about Amino's trap, and had notified the teachers. The ringleaders—Amino, Natsuo, and a few others—had been suspended. The faculty offered him counselling, but Atsumu declined. There was _nothing_ they could have counselled him through.

The suspended kids returned just before graduation.

And after that...

Atsumu merely watched. Watched as his classmates ascended to high school, watched as Aran left him further and further behind without knowing how much Atsumu wished to reconnect with him.

"You're not goin' ta Inarizaki?" Hozumi grunted one day, over breakfast. He was hungover.

"No," Atsumu said dully, his cereal spoon heavy in his hand. "Nothin's gonna change. Especially when yer trash."

_"Pig! Pig!" the children called, "Atsumu's a dirty pig!"_

"Tch. Ya made the right call. High school's a waste of time, anyway. Go get a job or somethin'."

"I will."

* * *

**October, 2012**

"Ya know," Atsumu said, practically spitting out the words as he tossed the receipts on the table, "Drinking all the time isn't gonna solve our money issues."

They hung in the air, a chill descending upon them.

Hozumi looked up from the bottle, eyes sunken. "What did you just say?"

"I saw the electric bill yesterday," Atsumu told him, taking a step back when Hozumi lumbered toward him, still clutching the sake bottle. "Dad, I'm _not_ tryin' ta start anythin', okay? We just need to cut back a lil' on spendin'— _shit_!" He ducked just in time to avoid the bottle, which shattered upon impact on the wall. Shards of glass sprayed in every direction, and Atsumu lifted his arms to protect himself from the shrapnel. "Fuck..." There was something growing within him. Something that held the stench of fear, but that resided in the red hot arms of blinding rage. Without thinking, he punched his father across the face. "Are you fuckin' _crazy_?!"

It had been the wrong thing to say and do.

Hozumi's fist sunk into Atsumu's stomach with a speed the latter could barely follow. Spittle flew from his mouth as he fell to the floor, his face scrunched up in pain.

"Crazy, am I?" Hozumi thundered, stomping on Atsumu's side. "Crazy, huh?! When will ya fuckin' realize, punk?!"

"Realize what?!" shouted Atsumu, tasting blood in his mouth.

"That you're nothin' without me! Why're ya suddenly actin' like head of house, huh? HUH?!"

Atsumu curled up into a ball, protecting his head with his arms.

"Come 'ere you _brat_."

Hozumi lifted him by the hair with terrifying ease. Even after his years of drinking and deteriorating in the house, the muscle from his father's years in the military were still going strong beneath his layers of fat. Atsumu stumbled after him, screaming obscenities as he tried to get Hozumi to unhand him.

A door he couldn't see banged open, and the smell of the laundry room came after.

There was a squeak as Hozumi twisted the tap, then the sound of water thudding against metal.

His heart dropped.

"Oh, fuck. FUCK NO, YOU CRAZY BASTARD!" Atsumu thrashed against his father. If he was going to be drowned, he wasn't going to go out without a fight. "LET GO OF ME! FUCK!"

Once the sink was full, Hozumi shoved his head into the water, holding it down there until Atsumu's struggling was finally enough for the man to let go.

"I'll do it again," slurred Hozumi, a hazy film of drunkenness clouding his gaze. "Fuckin' test me one more time...!"

He was _insane_.

"Scared, are ya?"

Atsumu was sure of it. This man was insane.

"Funny. You were never scared before."

Why weren't his damn feet moving?

It was nearly imperceptible, but Atsumu could feel each tremble in his body.

"So you finally know now." Hozumi stared at his son, half of his face shadowed from where the light from the hall was hitting. "You're _nothin'_ , boy. You're _nothin'_ without your brother. Still," he went on, "At least that one knew when to _keep his mouth shut_. WELL?!"

Atsumu flinched.

"Why are ya still here?! Get outta my sight!"

It was only when he was back in his room that he could finally breathe easy again. Atsumu kicked several of his and Osamu's old toy boxes so that they were pressed against the door, preventing it from being opened.

Water dripped down the back of his shirt.

His foot brushed against some coarse material, and Atsumu looked down.

It was his schoolbag.

When he looked up, his eyes met _it_. The worn green and gold poster with the black silhouette.

**¡LENDAS NUNCA MORREM!**

The band of fear snapped, and fury consumed him.

A scream tearing out of his throat, he launched the bag at it. Homework, workbooks, and stationary tipped out of the backpack and made an arc across his room. The poster tore, brought down by the weight of the bag, which had caught against it. More pens and books fell from the study table as the bag and poster made their descent, leaving a path of destruction.

Papers were still descending from the air when Atsumu finally collapsed on the floor, his chest heaving and his throat feeling chafed. He held his arms above his face, eyes at half-mast; around him, the papers continued to rain. His entire body felt like a giant bruise, his nose and lungs were stinging, and the red mark on his cheek was beginning to throb and swell. He didn't know _how_ Akari had put up with his tantrums for so long—his feelings towards his mother were less than stable, but he had to admire her strength.

Atsumu uncovered his eyes, squinting slightly when he was momentarily blinded by the light. Before he could sit up, though, a small slip of paper landed on and stuck to his forehead, and he blinked. Slowly, he reached up and grabbed it off his face, inspecting it. It was crinkled and torn at the edges, but Atsumu paid no mind to the small details. Instead, he had his gaze fixed on the series of numbers scribbled hastily on the paper.

A memory from years ago flickered to life in his mind—Oikawa Tooru with his hand outstretched and a veil too thin to hide away the genuine concern on his visage.

The paper was crushed in one trembling fist.

_"GOD DAMMIT!"_

Miya Atsumu wanted to _die_.

He didn't know what it was, couldn't explain it with his vocabulary. All he knew was that it made him unwanted and ashamed. Where had it all gone wrong? He _hated_ all of them. He hated Shō for being a selfish prick, Megumi and Takahashi for being ignorant swines, and Hozumi for being a filthy bastard. He hated Oikawa for his misplaced kindness, Natsuo for his heckling, Amino for her two-faced nature. He hated Akari for abandoning him and Osamu for being so far away.

Most of all, though, he hated himself. For sending Osamu away, and for being too weak to stand up to the adults around him.

With trembling fingers, he unfurled the piece of paper.

There was a thump from the next room. His father, probably, doing whatever. Atsumu didn't know, nor did he care to.

His body started to ache again. Hozumi packed a _punch_. When Atsumu had hit back today, he had been rewarded by the worst sucker-punch he had ever received. He doubted Natsuo from middle school could even kick as hard as Hozumi punched, and the former's legs had been all toned muscle back then.

Atsumu inhaled sharply.

Oikawa's number was still on the paper, still waiting to be called.

Before he could even process what he was doing, he had gotten his phone out and was adding the number to his contacts.

 _This is stupid,_ he thought, scowling at the dim screen. He had less than twenty percent battery left. Sitting cross-legged on his bed—or, rather, Osamu's top bunk (Atsumu had grown too tall for him to sit in his own bed without hitting his head)—Atsumu hovered his thumb over the call button with bated breath. Then he went back, sighing. A phone call out of the blue would be too weird. There wasn't even a guarantee that Oikawa's number still belonged to him—he could have easily changed it since the last time they had seen each other. Oikawa was his senior, too—next year, he would be headed off to university.

Deciding that he had nothing else to lose by taking a leap of faith, he shot off a text to the number.

 **[Atsumu]:** Hey

Not expecting a response any time soon, he flopped down and rolled toward the wall, reaching for the charging cable.

The number replied just as he was plugging in his phone.

 **[Oikawa?]:** Who is this? lol

Atsumu began typing, hesitated, then growled, "Oh, fuck it."

 **[Atsumu]:** Idk if u remember me but

 **[Atsumu]:** It's Miya Atsumu

 **[Atsumu]:** from

 **[Atsumu]:** that show

No reply.

Maybe he had gotten the wrong number after all and whoever he was texting thought he was some kind of creep.

 **[Oikawa?]:** YOU FINALLY TEXTED ME

 **[Oikawa?]:** DUDDEEEEEEE

 **[Oikawa?]:** IT'S BEEN LIKE 4 YEARS

Atsumu sagged in relief. Yeah, that was definitely Oikawa.

As he changed Oikawa's nickname to remove the question mark, more texts pinged.

 **[Oikawa]:** Wait. This isn't a good sign. You said you'd never text me. Σ(°△°|||)︴

 **[Oikawa]:** You're not necking yourself, are you?

 **[Atsumu]:** No!

Maybe he'd been thinking about it a lot more lately, but he didn't think he was going to do anything of the sort anytime soon.

 **[Oikawa]:** ok ok good

 **[Oikawa]:** Can we call?

 **[Atsumu]:** My dad's in the next room, so i'd rather not

 **[Oikawa]:** Can't you just go outside or something?

 _God, he's one persistent bastard._ Oikawa wasn't all the blame, though—there was no way he could possibly have any inkling about Atsumu's volatile home situation. Warily, he got out of the bed and padded toward the door, pressing his ear against the wood. There was nothing but silence on the other end. Preparing himself for the worst—the large frame of his father standing cross-armed on the other side—Atsumu palmed the rectangular handle and pushed it down.

To his relief, there was no one waiting for him.

His father was notably absent in the kitchen, too, so he was probably in the living room, drinking the night away. Oikawa kept pinging him texts he didn't care to read as he sneaked out the back.

The cold kissed his cheeks the moment he stepped out to the porch. If there was anything his mother had taken proper care of besides Osamu, it was the family garden—with her no longer here, all the flowers and fronds had wilted. Atsumu sat on the wooden staircase leading down to the yard, one leg stretched out languidly.

An even chillier breeze blew through as Atsumu called Oikawa's number, lazily observing the long shadows that the trees—bathed in moonlight—were casting. Oikawa picked up immediately, his voice almost blowing out Atsumu's eardrums.

_"You called!"_

"Pipe _down_ , will ya?" Atsumu hissed, glancing back to check if his father was there.

 _"Yes, yes,"_ Atsumu could picture Oikawa waving his hand at him in an irritatingly dismissive way, _"But can you blame me for being surprised?"_

"No one's blamin' ya, asshole."

_"Wow, snarky as always, huh? Look's like nothing's changed."_

For some reason, the comment made Atsumu's gut clench, as if Oikawa had punched him there all the way from Miyagi. "If ya really believe that, ya got a few screws loose in yer brain."

 _"Of course."_ Oikawa's tone was gentler—but not pitying. _"I was just being thoughtless, that's all."_

"Like always."

 _"Who's the thoughtless one now, hm? But anyway,"_ Oikawa swiftly changed the subject, _"What's going on with your life, Atsumu-san? Geez, that's a bit long-winded. How about Attsun?"_

"No way—"

_"So what's up, Attsun?"_

Atsumu exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could hear Oikawa chuckling to himself on the other end. "That's the lamest fuckin' nickname I've ever heard. But yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

_"Because I'm feeling gracious today, I'm going to ignore your blatant disrespect for the name I so kindly bestowed upon you. Attsun... I know you don't exactly think highly of me, but I'm not that stupid. I know you wouldn't have called me if you were really okay."_

Atsumu held the phone away from his ear when a crackle sounded. "Are you eating _chips_?"

A crunch. _"Yeah. Why? You want some?"_

"I—Y'know what, never mind. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have called you—"

_"Okay, okay, let's not be hasty now! I'll tone it down if you stop dodging my questions."_

"I'm not _dodging_." So maybe he was. But Oikawa made him just so _wary_. _Although... It's not like I have anyone else ta turn to..._ "Fine. Maybe things could be better."

Oikawa didn't say anything. The silence went on for so long that Atsumu thought that the other boy had hung up on him. But then Oikawa's voice came through again. _"Attsun. Do you remember that day? It was autumn, and me and Iwa-chan went to go see the studio for the last time. That was when we saw you—sulking against the wall. You were with Misumi Megumi, but she left before we talked to you."_

"What?" Atsumu frowned. "You remember all that? The hell..."

 _"To be honest,"_ Oikawa continued, _"I entered the show just to mess around for the summer. But also because... I was on the verge of giving up volleyball that time."_

"Oh." Atsumu was already beyond that point. Volleyball, now, was just a sport he had played for fun in the past. Why he ever thought he could've gone pro in the first place was unfathomable.

_"I was running away. From what I really loved and wanted to do. I had a lot of things I closed my eyes to, including my own best friend, and... I guess that's why it was so easy not to do anything. Attsun... I knew everything. I dunno about anyone else, but a lot of bullshit was going on behind the scenes. You should know—you were in the centre of it all. But me... I did a couple of searches here and there on the net, but that was about it. And I'm sorry for that. For not helping you."_

An owl cooed in the night. "Stop it," Atsumu groused into the phone, "I'm not yer _responsibility_. Wasn't then, and I'm still not now."

 _"No, you weren't,"_ agreed Oikawa. _"It was my own responsibility. As a decent human being. And I failed."_

More silence.

"But you did try to help. You gave me yer number, or don'tcha remember?"

_"I guess. But it wasn't enough. I... I should've done more."_

"Why," Atsumu swallowed a lump in his throat, "are you tellin' me this?"

 _"Ah, well. I didn't think you'd open up to me if I didn't open up to you a little first."_ Oikawa chortled. _"Did it work? Are you finally gonna tell me what's going on?"_

"I... It's a long, _long_ story."

_"I've got time."_

It was all too easy to cave. The sharing bit was the hard part—Atsumu didn't know how many times he stumbled over his sentences, doing his best to try and arrange events in a coherent order for Oikawa to follow. By the time he was done, the clouds were covering the moon, and it had gotten substantially colder. Atsumu used his free arm to rub his bicep, feeling goosebumps rising on his skin. He should've brought a jacket out with him.

 _"Attsu—Atsumu?"_ Oikawa said. _"Are you still there?"_

"Mm. I'm here. Well," Atsumu chuckled hoarsely, "Whaddya think?"

No answer.

"Oikawa? Oi, are you still—?" A screeching noise made Atsumu hold the phone far, far away from his ear. "What the hell?!"

 _"Shit, shit shit,"_ Oikawa mumbled, his voice sounding closer than usual. Was he holding his device close to his mouth, perhaps? _"Shit, fuck, shit, dammit!"_

"That's a lot of shits."

 _"I'm so_ pissed _right now. I-I think I'm about to fucking lose it, dude."_

"Why are _you_ mad?" Atsumu demanded. "I'm supposed ta be the mad one."

 _"Ahhh!"_ Oikawa sighed deeply. _"It doesn't matter! I'm so... so angry! I think I might_ punch _something."_

Atsumu snorted. "Careful there, noodle-limbs, don't wantcha hurtin' yerself."

_"Hey! For your information, I'm pretty buff if I do say so myself."_

"Uh huh. Sure."

 _"But Attsun,"_ and it was back to that idiotic nickname, _"Are you... Are you gonna do anything about it? Like... You realize you can't keep this to yourself forever, right? The truth needs to come out."_

"Does, it though?" challenged Atsumu. "'Samu's livin' his best life 'cause of me. I don't regret anythin' I did."

 _"That doesn't mean you can just throw away your own life so easily, though. So what if Osamu's doing good? What about you? What about_ you _, Atsumu?"_

 _What_ about _me?_ Something was cracking inside him, ever so slowly. Atsumu exhaled slowly, running his hand through his damp hair. It felt stiff now, probably from the oncoming winter.

 _"Your life matters, too,"_ Oikawa told him, quieter. _"Don't ever think that it doesn't."_

"... To be honest," Atsumu's throat bobbed, "It sure doesn't feel like that. But even if it does, what can _I_ do? My life's this way 'cause of _me_. The choices I made."

Oikawa hummed, contemplating a solution. _"Well... I've been thinking. My sister's a journalist for a pretty famous newspaper in Miyagi. If you..."_ He cleared his throat. " _I can set up an appointment with her for you, if you want? Just air out all of Shō's dirty laundry."_

Although he knew Oikawa couldn't see, Atsumu shook his head. "Can't. I have a contract with Shō. It's legally bindin' and all. I shouldn't have even told ya in the first place."

_"Shoot, that's right. Hmm, then... I'll do it!"_

"Eh?"

" _I'll tell her everything,"_ Oikawa elaborated. _"Well, obviously not the stuff that you told me that only_ you _would know. Obviously. But I've done a fair bit of digging about this in the past, and the things I'll say can just be passed off as observations!"_

It sounded too good to be true. Skeptical, Atsumu asked, "Even if it does get published, how d'ya know it'll work?"

 _"Because if there's anything people love after exhausting their hate for someone, it's reigniting that flame toward someone else,"_ Oikawa said matter-of-factly. _"Bonus points if they still get to call themselves good people by the end of it."_

"Fuck, man."

_"Yeah, I know."_

Atsumu knew that it wasn't good to hope, especially when it came to things like this. But he couldn't help but do it anyway, if only a little. "Wait." Clearing his name wasn't the only thing he wanted. The gears in his head turned. _If I can get away from Hozumi, then...!_ He would take a stuffy, corrupt director over his father any day. "We can use this. I'm gonna negotiate with him. Or, wait! Maybe _you_ can!"

 _"Oh?"_ Oikawa's voice lilted in curiosity. _"What do you wanna negotiate?"_

"It's pretty simple. Make him take me back to 'Samu or else you'll spill everything. It's the _least_ that bastard owes me..."

 _"I don't know,"_ Oikawa said reluctantly. _"Are you sure you want to go back to him?"_

"Beats stickin' 'round here," Atsumu growled. "I'm sick of this shithole."

 _"That bad, huh?"_ He seemed to be picking up on the implications of Atsumu's home life.

"So," Atsumu gripped his phone tightly, "Will you help me?"

Under a blanket of stars, the dark shape of a bird glided through the sky, becoming a dot in the distance.

Then Oikawa chuckled. _"Sure. Let's right a past wrong together."_

* * *

**November 14th, 2012**

Hozumi was hitting the bar tonight, meaning that Atsumu had the whole house to himself. Still, the fridge was nigh empty, so he had to visit Amino Mart for groceries. Humming along with the tune from Osamu's old MP3 player, Atsumu walked through town, hands hidden in the pocket of his hoodie.

Tonight was the night.

The night that Oikawa would confront Shō. Atsumu had no idea where they would be meeting—perhaps a restaurant or food court. It was all up to Oikawa now—Atsumu's part with this plan was pretty much non-existent from here.

Atsumu flipped his phone open, eyes brightening when he saw a new text from Oikawa. Was it over already? Had they finished discussing their terms?

 **[Oikawa]:** just left vb practice

 **[Oikawa]:** gonna meet him now

He didn't respond—there was no need.

There was no one at the counter when the automatic doors opened, allowing Atsumu to step inside. He went straight for the snack aisle, mentally doing their calculations to see if it would fit within his budget. Two chip packets was all he could get along with dinner for himself.

His lips quirked up in a tentative smile. Maybe he would treat himself to hotpot tonight.

Atsumu was scouring the fridge aisle for ingredients when a voice sounded to his right.

"Good evening, sir! How can I help you?"

"Yeah," Atsumu whipped around, "I'm lookin' for— _Amino-san?_ "

Amino Maaya looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her mouth was slightly agape, her hands held out in front of her person awkwardly. She had grown up alright by conventional standards—she had learned how to use makeup to accentuate her delicate features. Although, it looked like she had put on a bit of weight as well, her face and arms rounder than Atsumu remembered.

His gaze was _thunderous_. "Huh," he said lowly, "So you work at your family's store now... Never thought I'd see the day." _Lazy bitch._

"Miya-kun," Amino started, her eyes wide and filling with tears.

" _Don't_. Don't even fuckin' _talk_ to me."

Atsumu pushed past her, ignoring her feeble protests. Just looking at her made something terrible burn in the pit of his stomach—shame, embarrassment, hatred. What she had done had broken him and laid him bare, and he could not forgive her for ever putting him in such a compromising position. Dreams of Inarizaki High and Aran—gone, Atsumu too fearful and wary of what he would find there.

And _she_ had done this to him.

When she scanned the items he bought, he made sure to stare at the automatic doors as it let another customer in instead.

 _Ugh._ The plastic bag full of groceries crinkled in his hand on his way home. _She's ruined my appetite._

If he could help it, Atsumu would never shop here again.

Despite his encounter with Amino, however, the hotpot was adequate. Atsumu had always had a taste for seafood, especially tuna and similar fish varieties. Maybe eating in solitude would have invited feelings of loneliness in other people, but Atsumu rarely felt this secure. It was just him—just him alone, enjoying a meal by himself. No Hozumi. No Akari.

No Osamu either, but he could deal with it. _Had_ been dealing with it for the past three or so years.

After he had finished eating and washing the dishes, he went outside, closing the back door behind him. Akari's old garden sat sprawling beyond him. Atsumu was pulling his jacket over his shoulders when he got a new text from Oikawa.

 **[Oikawa]:** h

 _Huh?_ Atsumu blinked at the peculiar message. _'Suke'? Wait a minute...!_ His fingers flew across the keyboard. _'Help'?!_

 **[Atsumu]:** Oi

 **[Atsumu]:** Oikawa

 **[Atsumu]:** dude answer me

 **[Atsumu]:** Oikawa, you there?

 **[Atsumu]:** OIKAWA!

"Shit," Atsumu muttered under his breath, running his hand through his hair. He halted in the middle of the backyard, his toes curling in the damp grass. The moon was a waxing crescent tonight, illuminating little of the garden. Still, though, his phone had the best reception in this spot—he could see the cell tower from here. He rang Oikawa, but he didn't pick up. _Maybe he's still talking with Shō_. But there was this feeling—this inexplicable feeling—that told him something was _wrong_. It made his stomach curdle and goosebumps rise on his bare arms. "Come on," he called again, "Pick up, dammit..."

Why wasn't he picking up?

_Click._

Atsumu stilled, waiting for Oikawa to say something. But all he could hear on the other end was this _heavy breathing_.

"Hey," Atsumu spoke into the phone, apprehension making his voice go an octave higher than usual. "Hey, Oikawa!"

There was another clicking noise, followed by the call end tone droning into his ear.

A coldness settling over him, Atsumu let his arm fall to the side, the top half of his flip phone half-closing against his thigh.

The tiniest ding reached his ears.

Slowly, Atsumu held his phone up to check the text he had just received, hoping for some kind of answer or reassurance that everything was going to be okay for once in his life.

 **[Oikawa]:** Osamu's next if you continue to pursue this.

Then, as quickly as the text had appeared, it was gone.

* * *

**May 8th, 2018**

One of the nurses must have opened the window, because Sakusa could feel a gentle breeze flowing through the room. That and the curtains were drifting back and forth in his peripheral.

"What do you mean it was gone?" Sakusa asked. "That the message got deleted by the sender?"

Atsumu shrugged weakly. "Probably. After that," he went on, "I was prepared to keep my mouth shut forever. _God_ ," he let out a shaky breath, "I was supposed ta take this secret to the _grave_. I quit school, moved out of the house, and got a job in construction. Made pretty good money, actually. But," and Sakusa almost flinched back at the way his voice broke, "What's it good for, anyway? I got nothin' left, prosecutor. _Nothin'_." His eyes squeezed shut as tears formed; Sakusa looked away. " _'Samu...! Osamu...!_ "

 _I'm sorry._ The words were heavy on his tongue and not quite right. _Nobody deserves to go through this._ Sakusa slumped forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs. Whenever a victim or a witness got like this, he usually had an assistant—a police officer, usually—to calm them down. He would not call himself completely incompetent in these sorts of situations, but he typically found that it was best for him to be silent. Words laced with manufactured kindness were not his forte.

"I was gonna see him, y'know. I even got a job here and everything. But he _died_. He died _anyway_. _I... I got him killed!_ "

Atsumu hunched over, then, and Sakusa quickly stood to steady him. "Calm down," he ordered, not unkindly. "Miya-san. Miya-san. _Atsumu-san, listen to me_. It wasn't your fault."

"If I'd just stuck my nose out of their fuckin' business—"

"—it would have ended the same way!" Sakusa gripped his shoulders tightly. "Atsumu-san, calm down."

 _"You don't know that!"_ Atsumu yanked away from his touch. Outside, the sun disappeared briefly behind the clouds, accentuating the dark rings around Atsumu's eyes.

Sakusa took a deep breath, sitting back down. " _None_ of this is your fault, Atsumu-san." Like creatures stirring from sleep, his hands shifted as he began his subconscious fiddling, stretching his wrists in inhuman ways. Curiously, Atsumu's eyes strayed to the odd movements more than once. "But the man responsible for what he did to you... What he did to you and many others is still out there. So thank you."

Atsumu regarded him carefully. "For what?"

"Being brave enough to tell me the truth. It's not easy. I _know_ it's not easy. To accept your own vulnerability and be able to share it with others."

"Don't," Atsumu eyed him, exhausted, "praise me for doin' the bare minimum."

Sakusa stood once more. "I'll get you a drink."

"... Thanks."

As the kettle boiled, hot water the only drink that Sakusa was confident that Naoko would allow him to consume, Atsumu's story echoed in his ears. From his parents' rocky marriage, to the devil's editing, to the harassment...

Atsumu gave his back an intrigued glance when Sakusa slammed the cup down on the counter harder than necessary.

The kettle squealed.

Then there was a click, and the flow of steam streaming from the kettle spout gradually stopped. Sakusa poured the boiling water wordlessly into the mug, followed by cold water from a separate jug. "Here." He handed it to Atsumu, who took it with a short nod. As Atsumu raised the cup to his lips, blowing gently on the water, Sakusa said, "I mean it. It's not your fault. And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that he stays behind bars for the rest of his life."

Atsumu licked his chapped lips, nervously. "Shō... I didn't think he'd go this far. Heck, I don't even know if it's really him. But... Who else could it be?"

In the pocket of his overcoat, Sakusa's phone buzzed. He checked the caller ID, his jaw stiffening when he saw who it was—Okazaki. She must have finally gotten through to _her_. He swiped left—he'd take her call later. "That's what I'm gonna find out. Hey, Atsumu-san."

"Drop the honorific already. I toldja—just Atsumu."

Sakusa met his eyes. "He's not getting away with this."

Atsumu cracked a smile. " _Good_."

* * *

It was only when he was gone that the tension eased out of Atsumu's shoulders. He breathed a small sigh, recalling the only part of his tale that he had omitted. That day, when he had heard Osamu had passed, he had gone to the nearest pharmacy for sleeping pills. The rest was supposed to have been history, but...

_Ah._

Atsumu rested an arm over his eyes, making note to call a nurse in soon to close the blinds and turn on the television for him.

_I thought he was an angel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm back! hahaha i've been gone longer than i thought. i feel a lot more stable now, though, and we're getting to a part of the story i've been wanting to write for a while, so hopefully updates will be more frequent :)
> 
> no promises, though
> 
> not feeling very confident in this chapter either but i hope the quality goes up when we get to the good parts ^^
> 
> This chapter was pretty difficult to write just because, lol. We're gonna be hitting the climax of the story soon, though... Very soon... :)
> 
> Also, the 'suke' thing is because the first character of 'help' (tasukete) can be read as 'suke' (助) by itself.
> 
> Comments are love, I love seeing them so much and I've missed you guys! qwq
> 
> IF YOU LIKE SHARD SOCIETY!! PLEASE SHARE AND REC IT EVERYWHERE! Twitter, tumblr, idk other social media etc. I want this to reach as many people as possible!!


	28. Thieves and Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are set into motion...

**May 6th, 2018**

"Where are you going?"

God, he couldn't _stand_ that voice. It was a miracle that he had been able to put up with it for so long—was _still_ putting up with it. Kunimi's fists clenched by his sides. "Away from here," he snapped, not looking back at Goshiki. He hadn't been able to read that guy properly since high school— _that night_ being an exception. _What a joyful reunion that'd been..._ Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his jacket from the coat hanger and stormed out.

Kunimi didn't stop walking until he found himself standing in the middle of the quadrangle lawn. There were a few students sitting on the grass and giving him odd glances before continuing their conversations. He exhaled slowly. _Shit. That went absolutely shit._

And he couldn't even blame Kindaichi for it. Not completely. Deep down—and it stung his pride a little to admit—he knew that he was at fault. He had overreacted to Kindaichi's unexplained, prolonged absence—Kindaichi was a grown man who had every right to be out overnight.

_Still... The last time this happened..._

_No._

_Stop._

_He isn't Oikawa._

Shoulders drooping, Kunimi trudged on aimlessly. The Hongo Campus was busy today—students, staff members, and outside volunteers alike were preparing for the upcoming May Festival. The diversity was clear as day—international students were at the forefront of most of the setting up. It seemed the university was going for a multicultural presentation this year—or maybe they always had been, and Kunimi simply hadn't noticed, even after all his years studying at Todai. He usually stuck to traditional sweet stalls during festivals, anyway.

It was strange. He would be graduating soon—graduating without ever having really immersed himself in Todai's school culture. It seemed like only yesterday that he had been a first year in high school, lost in a new world of grief, anger, and _horror,_ still reeling at that reality had served him and many others. Truly, though, Kunimi was grateful. For the most part, he had been able to keep his wits about.

Some of them hadn't been so lucky.

Kindaichi was one of them.

Kunimi halted in front of the Syrian stall, watching the students converse in a mix of their mother tongue, English, and Japanese. _Or maybe I'm thinking about it the wrong way._ No, he corrected himself, Kindaichi was not unlucky. In fact, he was—perhaps—the opposite. _They say that ignorance is bliss._

"Hello!" one of the Syrian students called to him, giving him a friendly smile and wave. "Would you like to try some of our _shawarma_? It's a test batch!"

Kunimi glanced at the slow-turning vertical rotisserie behind the men. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" The Syrian man gave one of his companions an arch grin. "Then Hassan will finally get closure on its deliciousness!"

"Please," groaned Hassan, "Shut it, Karam."

Since he wasn't one to decline free food, Kunimi gratefully accepted the offer. "It's good," he offered when he finished it, wiping some oil off his fingers with a napkin they'd given him. "I've never tasted anything like it, actually."

"Ah, that's wonderful news!" said Karam, throwing one arm around a glaring Hassan. "Please stop by our stall this Tuesday! The school is hosting a 'practice-run' festival to prepare us for the real thing." In a lower voice, he added, "It's a school-only event, so no outsiders know about this."

"No promises," said Kunimi. "But we'll see."

He went on his way after that, strolling down an avenue lined by gingko trees. How nice of Hassan to have gotten closure for his cooking—Kunimi could only _wish_ for the same thing. _But..._ The path to closure came at a cost Kunimi wasn't sure he wanted to accept. It was _pretty fucking ironic_ , Kunimi figured, that _Kindaichi_ of all people would be the one pursuing this to the ends of the earth. That the person he wanted to protect the most from what had happened back then was risking his own sanity for answers. For _justice_.

The word weighed heavily in his heart. _Justice_. Six years ago, Oikawa and Iwaizumi had both been robbed of that very thing—and the shrapnel had cut deep into the rest of them.

"Ahh! Come back!"

Kunimi raised an eyebrow as he saw a girl with her hair—the bottom half dyed blue—pulled into a messy fishtail that hung over her shoulder running toward him. She was chasing after a cylindrical tube, one which he picked up as it stopped at his feet. "Here..." he trailed off, frowning slightly. _Don't I know her from somewhere? Ah._ "Risa-san, right?" It was Risa's conversation with her friend, Ayame, that had majorly tipped Kunimi off to Yahaba's actions.

Risa didn't thank him when she took the tube back. "Yeah. Who're you?"

Her Japanese was kind of formal now that he listened closer. It sounded textbook, in fact. _Is she an international student, too?_ Noticing his scrutiny, the girl fiddled with her braid. "Isn't it rude to ask that without introducing yourself first? You're welcome, by the way."

"I didn't ask for your help." She huffed. Then, as if remembering something, she straightened. "Could I interest you in a petition?"

"No."

"I haven't even said what it is yet!"

Kunimi side-stepped her, clicking his tongue in annoyance when she blocked him from passing. "Do you do this to everyone you meet? How exhausting."

"I've been told I'm charming." Risa pulled a clipboard with a pen attached to it out of her handbag and held it toward him. "Here. It's for more co-ed sports to be run and featured in the university's Undoukai Circle."

Resigning himself to this, Kunimi took it from her, signing his name on the slot below 'Iwasaki Shino'. "You're in Undoukai?"

"I don't look it, right?" Risa smirked. "For your information, though, I used to be a _star_ softball player. But now," she sighed affectedly, "I'm a mere sports administration worker."

_She works in admin for Undoukai?_ Kunimi's eyes widened a fraction. That meant that Goshiki was her coworker. Did they see each other often? Goshiki had never mentioned her before. Then again, the man barely spoke about his life, so Kunimi wasn't so surprised that the topic of Risa had never come up.

"That's cool," Kunimi said, noncommittal. He scanned the paper on the clipboard, noticing her name at the top. "Yang Risa..." _A foreign surname._ "Are you part-Korean?"

Risa shook her head as she collected the clipboard from him. "Chinese," she corrected. "I'm from Beijing, actually, but my mom's side of the family all live in Japan."

At that moment, someone called to her, lifting an arm, "Yangri! Come on, we gotta get these posters to Setsuna-chan!"

"Coming!" Risa shouted back, waving back with one of the curled up posters in her hand. Without even saying goodbye, she dashed off. Grumbling, Kunimi was about to go on his way when he heard something crunch under his shoe. Looking down, he could see a crinkled piece of paper stuck to his heel. It must have fallen from Risa's purse when she took out her clipboard. He peeled it off, face becoming blank when he realized what it was.

_A map... No, a floor plan... Of one of the Pharmaceutical Sciences buildings._

What had Kuroo said earlier this morning?

Dread crept up on him.

Warily, Kunimi glanced up from the piece of paper and stared after Risa's retreating back. It wasn't enough evidence to denote her as the thief, but it certainly made her more suspicious. Wordlessly, he folded it up and shoved it into his jacket pocket, feeling it pushing against a half-empty packet of tissues that he kept forgetting to remove.

* * *

When Kunimi got back, the dorm was silent. Both Goshiki and Kindaichi were seated at the kitchen island and on their laptops, probably working on their assignments. Kindaichi had his earbuds in and a thunderous scowl on his face, while Goshiki had his tongue sticking out a little as he typed. Neither of them greeted him.

He was doing his assigned reading on the couch and beginning to think that they were going to ignore him the whole day when Kindaichi suddenly took out his earphones and cast him an indiscernible look. "We need to talk."

Kunimi made a face. "You really just said that, huh?"

"I know it's number seven on your list of least favorite phrases," Kindaichi said. "But I don't care right now."

"Tch." Kunimi closed his book, dog-earing the page. "Don't talk at me from across the room, then. Talk _to_ me instead." He patted a free spot on the couch.

Kindaichi had no business standing up so creakily, like an ancient oak tree—it just served to remind Kunimi that the years had passed them by all too quickly. He lumbered across the room, his arms lifted in a 'v' as he stretched.

The couch shifted when he sat, throwing his whole weight against the back cushion. "Tell me everything," Kindaichi said simply, a frown creasing his brow. "About Yahaba. In detail this time." The quilt that he had been holding earlier was now folded neatly on Yahaba's top bunk to be collected later on.

So Kunimi did.

By the end of it, Kindaichi was silent, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Goshiki had abandoned his work to finish packing up Yahaba's things, stating that his parents would be here soon.

"Why did you hide it from me? And don't tell me that bullshit you did before."

Kunimi didn't meet his eye. _How am I supposed to answer that? This stems back a lot further than you think, Kindaichi._ "I... I wanted to protect you."

" _Protect_ me?" Kindaichi repeated, incredulous. He barked a laugh. "You're kidding, right? You know, I've always gotten the feeling that you didn't want me to pursue the case."

Kunimi's head snapped up. "Why're you bringing _that_ up?"

"Because," and Kindaichi's tone was steely here, "There's been a lot of things bothering me lately. And you've been one of them. I... I can't seem to remember a lot of things that happened around the time Oikawa died. And it's a weird feeling, but... Why do I feel like you have something to do with it? In fact, why are you even studying psychology? It's so random. Even Kuroo-san appearing out of nowhere. Isn't it weird? That I decided to switch from his dad to Sakusa, and then he shows up?"

"First of all, these accusations are baseless," Kunimi replied sharply.

"Gut feelings aren't often wrong."

Kunimi bit his tongue. _No. You're right, they're not._ "Kindaichi. The truth... What if it's dangerous?"

"I don't care. Look," Kindaichi rubbed the corner of his eye, more tired than Kunimi remembered him looking, "I won't ask you today. But someday, you're gonna have to tell me what the hell you're hiding. I want the truth from you. About everything. But if it has anything to do with what happened to Oikawa... You have to tell me _now_."

He considered this. Then Kunimi nodded. "Alright. I get it." _I'm sorry. But I can't._

"I don't need to be protected, Kunimi. I'm not some little kid."

His shoulder started to throb again. "I know!" snapped Kunimi. "God, I _know_ , okay?"

Before Kindaichi could retort, there was a knock on the door.

"Hello?" a woman's voice called.

For the rest of the afternoon, they helped Yahaba's mother pack his things into the family car.

* * *

**May 8th, 2018**

"Almond cap with one sugar!" Hinata called, placing the cup of coffee on the counter. An older gentleman approached to pick it up, smiling after taking a sip of it. "Have a nice day, sir!"

"Alright, alright!" Sunano clapped her hands when he was gone. "Good job, team! I'm sure we're gonna be a success for the real thing!" With a pleased smile, she switched the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed'.

Kageyama, who had been working the register, groaned and cracked his back. "I can't believe that wasn't the real thing," he mumbled.

"Tired already, Bakageyama?" Hinata goaded, jabbing the taller man with an elbow. "Not used to standing up for eight hours straight? Huh?"

"Shut it, shortie."

"Kageyama-san," Sunano walked up to him, hands clasped at her chest, "Thank you so much for helping out today. You can help yourself to the fridge, if you want."

"Oh, no, it's fine—"

"We have milk."

It was like watching a machine short-circuit. Hinata snickered under his breath as Kageyama stilled. Sunano could practically see the gears in his head turned, the black-haired man reconsidering her offer. Eventually, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Of course. You've worked hard today," Sunano told him warmly, "It's the least you deserve. You can eat some of the remaining cheese pastries, too, if you want."

Iwasaki Shino, who was rearranging some of the posters on the window, stopped what she was doing, seemingly satisfied with her work. "Sunano-san, are we packing up for today?"

"Yep," replied Sunano. "I'm driving, by the way."

"You're the only one with a license," Hinata pointed out.

"Even if you had a license, Hinata, I don't think I could trust you behind the wheel."

"Hey!"

They hauled everything into a van Sunano had rented for the occasion. Once everything was inside, Sunano gave the keys to the chef, who would be closing the shop, and they all piled into the vehicle. Shino rode shotgun, while Kageyama and Hinata were at the back.

"So, Iwasaki-san," Hinata leaned forward, his seat belt stretching with the motion, "How did you and Sunano-san meet? She said something about book club?"

Shino beamed into the rear-view mirror. "Oh, yes. It's a weekly event hosted at a library near my apartment."

"She brought Russian literature in on her first week," Sunano continued, chuckling. " _Russian_ literature. Can you imagine?"

"It's valid literature," Shino said mildly.

"I think Kiku-san was going to blow a fuse, actually. She's a Japanese literature purist."

Shino just shrugged, uncaring. Then she asked the men, "So what high schools did you two graduate from?"

"Nekoma," Hinata said.

At the same time, Kageyama said, "Karasuno."

"Karasuno?" Shino parroted, eyes becoming round. "Small world—I'm an Aobajosai grad. Class of 2015."

"Same," Kageyama mumbled, a little more subdued now. Agog, Hinata gave him a glance. _So we're all the same age._ "Shino-san... You were there when it happened, right? When... Oikawa-san died."

"Ah..." Shino's soft features saddened. "Yes, I was. I was just a first year, but I still remember the chaos that followed. It was a terrible time. The whole school was in shambles. My sister... His death absolutely destroyed her." Her gaze hardened. "The other kids wouldn't leave her alone either." She shook her head. "I don't believe that his best friend did it. I really, really doubt it. So that means... They never did catch who did it, did they? To think... That whoever killed Oikawa-san is still out there as a free man."

A hushed silence followed.

"Sorry," Kageyama apologized quietly. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's alright. I'm one of the lucky ones—I wasn't so affected by his death. My role in his life was just the younger sister of his ex-girlfriend." Shino sighed through her nose. "The ones I pity the most are the ones who were closest to him."

Sunano drove on.

* * *

The Undoukai Administration Building wasn't far from the dorms, but Kunimi had a more than difficult time getting there. Campus was even busier than yesterday, all sorts of stalls having popped up seemingly overnight for today's quasi-festival. Hassan and Karam waved him over to their stall when he passed by, but he had pretended to not see them. Finally, he found himself standing in front of the building. There was a sausage sizzle going on at the side—it was manned by some members of the Undoukai Circle, but Risa wasn't one of them.

"Excuse me," he inquired at the stall, lifting a hand up to decline the sausage sandwich he was being offered, "Do you know where Yang Risa is?"

"Oh, Yangri?" a brown-haired boy said, smiling. "She should be inside."

"Thanks." Kunimi hurried toward the building, dodging bodies and cutting between chatting friends. Grimacing, he looked at printed layout he had brought along with him before folding it up as he entered.

Risa wasn't difficult to find, the girl typing something on her phone with a small grin on her face. Another woman was standing off to the side, taking a telephone call and writing down details on a sheet of graph paper. Risa glanced up as he stepped up to the counter, blinking. "Oh, it's you. Can I help you with anything?"

Kunimi wasted no time, slapping the layout down in front of her. As her cheeks paled, he looked her in the eye and demanded, "Explain."

Her lip curled in an ugly snarl. "Where the _hell_ did you get this from?!"

"You can thank your own carelessness for that," Kunimi answered, his stare not wavering. "Well? It was you, wasn't it? You broke into the lab and stole the chemicals."

"I...! You can't prove anything!"

"No," he agreed. "But your reaction is already telling me what I need to know. I _can_ report this, you know. The university's scouring everywhere for the perpetrator. If I tip them off, whether or not there's explicit evidence... They're going to investigate."

"You...! You absolute _asshole_!"

"Yes, I'll hold," Risa's coworker said abruptly. She covered the receiver, throwing them a concerned glance. "Yangri? Is everything okay over there? Why are you shouting?"

At that, Kunimi tapped a finger on the floor plan. _I can tell her everything. Then you'll be in huge fucking trouble._

Risa peered at her coworker, then at Kunimi. Then she sagged. "It's nothing. Hey, uh, you..."

"It's Kunimi Akira."

"Kunimi-san, follow me to the back. I'll show you where the hockey equipment is, and you can see which one fits you best." To the other woman, she smiled weakly. "Everything's fine, boss, don't worry! I was just telling him that he needs to pay a deposit for higher quality equipment..."

"Well, if you're sure."

As she returned to her phone call, Risa shot Kunimi a nasty glare. "Come. I'll... I'll tell you everything."

They sat down together, across from each other at an empty table. Risa brewed some jasmine green tea for the both of them, perhaps to stall the inevitable. Once they both had their drinks, she sighed and began, "I don't know where to start... But I guess it was because of," her cheeks flushed, "this guy I liked. Who I _still_ like. He's in one of my occupational therapy classes this year, and I managed to convince him to join the Undoukai so I could be closer to him. Not that I told him that outright, of course!"

Kunimi curled his fingers around the handle of his mug, tea still steaming hot—he could feel the heat from the beverage emanating against his knuckles. "Who is he? This classmate of yours."

Risa dropped her gaze, chewing on her bottom lip. "I..." To remind her of her situation, Kunimi brought the map out again and held it up. After cursing him out under her breath, she took another deep inhale. "My classmate's name... is Goshiki Tsutomu."

And Kunimi almost dropped his cup. _"What?"_

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"He's..." _Goshiki?!_ "Don't worry. Please—continue."

First Yahaba, and now Goshiki. Was their dorm cursed? Kunimi clutched his cup handle tighter. Maybe it was too unfair of him to judge. After all, he—and Kindaichi—also had skeletons in the closet. Even if one of them _didn't remember it_.

"Well," Risa peered up at the ceiling thoughtfully, "I like him a lot, and I wanted to impress him. So... I tried to get close to him. And it worked! Until... He asked me for a favor. I... I couldn't turn him down. I liked him too much." Anxiously, she took a sip of her tea. "Goshiki... He knew that I had a chemistry elective this term. So," she swallowed, "He asked me to just borrow a few things for him."

"You mean steal." Kunimi's bluntness made her wince. " _You_ stole the chemicals."

"Yeah. I did. Are you happy now, Kunimi-san?"

But he still had questions. "Why would Goshiki need them?"

"I don't know." Risa's voice dropped down to a whisper. "But... He's been acting really strange lately. A few weeks ago, I was on stock duty, and I found that one of hockey stick bags were missing. But it was late and I was tired, so I decided to report it the next morning. I just wanted to go home and sleep, you know? But then, the next day... _Goshiki_ walked in with it. When I asked him about it, he kept dodging me. He was all sweaty, too, as if he'd been running for a long time... Then he said he was taking the day off! I... I didn't think much of it back then. But it was really, really weird..."

"A hockey stick bag?" Kunimi echoed. "Can you show me?"

"Yeah, sure thing." She disappeared into another room labelled 'storage' on the door, then returned with a black and white bag—it had a long vertical. "Here. We have, like, fifteen of them."

He didn't want it to be true. He had known from the night he had met Goshiki in the bathroom that the man in question wasn't as stable as he seemed. But there was _no way_ what Kunimi was thinking now was anything close to the truth. It _couldn't_ be. "How... How long are they?"

"This is one of our smaller ones," explained Risa. "The biggest ones are almost forty inches long."

The cup wobbled.

Kunimi put it down.

"Would you say," he ventured slowly, "That a shotgun could fit in there?"

Risa tilted her head. "I mean... Sure. I don't know much about guns, but I don't see why not." She yelped when Kunimi suddenly screeched his chair back, standing. His mug of tea was nearly knocked over. "Hey! Where are you going?! You're not gonna report me, are you?!"

"Where is it now?!" Kunimi urged, ignoring her question. "That hockey stick bag!"

"In Goshiki's locker, the last time I saw!" Risa shouted back. She stormed over to a nondescript locker and started twisting the knob. "It's a good thing I memorized his code..." She opened it with a flourish. "Here, see! Wait, what?"

It was empty.

"N-no way..." Risa stammered. "It was there, like, yesterday! I saw him open it, and it was inside! Kunimi-san—!"

But when she looked over her shoulder, Kunimi was already gone.

* * *

The door handle rattled a bit before Kindaichi swung it open, sighing. "I'm back." Judging from the silence that greeted him, Goshiki and Kunimi were both absent. _So I've got the whole place to myself._ That was fine—he still had things to follow up on, such as the list of suspects that Sakusa had sent him last night. After today's discussion at the hospital, he felt exhausted. _But there's no rest for the wicked... Wait a minute...!_

The case files that he had hidden under his bed were scattered across the floor.

"Shit, what the hell?" he growled, tossing his bag on the couch before dragging the remaining papers from underneath his bunk. _Don't tell me Kunimi did this shit._ The other man had already pulled a stunt like this before—Kindaichi wouldn't put it past him to do it again. _But... Why didn't he put everything back? He wouldn't just leave it out like this. He's too careful for that..._

Puzzling over this strange occurrence, he knelt on the floorboards and began to rearrange them.

He heard the door open. Kunimi, probably. If he remembered correctly, Goshiki had class on Tuesdays.

"You know," Kindaichi groused without turning around, still sorting the papers. "I've had it fucking up to _here_ with your bullshit."

Footsteps approached him.

"We've known each other since we were kids. But I'm not a child anymore. You don't have to keep walking around on eggshells with me."

They stopped. He could feel Kunimi standing behind him.

"You hear me? Kunimi—"

Pain exploded in the back of his head.

As Kindaichi slumped to the floor, grey enveloping his world, Goshiki stood over him impassively, shotgun in hand.

_"Sorry, Kindaichi."_

* * *

The place was a dump, the complex on par with Atsumu's building. Definitely not where Sakusa had expected an esteemed member of the entertainment industry to live. _Guess it just made it all the easier for him to hide._

Sakusa remembered Okazaki's recap of her meeting with Takagi Chiasa clearly. Apparently, the woman was now stuck in an unhappy marriage with a _man_ , but she had provided the information needed for Sakusa to find Shō.

_"It was like you suspected,"_ Okazaki had said over the phone. _"Takagi-san had a list of all the properties Shō owned and frequented from back then. He has two in Tokyo_ — _one's fancy, and the other's the equivalent of a junkyard._ _"_

The insides of his overcoat had custom-made pockets for sanitizer, pepper spray, and a taser. And if it came down to it, Sakusa was not afraid or incapable of using his bare hands.

One thing this building had over Atsumu's was an elevator. The buttons were grimy and rusted, and Sakusa grimaced as he sprayed the button panel with his sanitizer before pressing the button for the third floor.

Strangely enough, it didn't feel real. After six years stewing in resentment and unanswered questions, things were finally coming to a close. There were still some knots left untied, but he was sure that the answers would be revealed after Shō was apprehended. His alibi for the night of Oikawa's night was virtually nonexistent, and his alibi for the fifth of December was flimsy at best. He didn't know when he had begun to suspect Shō—perhaps not long after Osamu's death—but Atsumu's story had all but confirmed his suspicions. The blond still had in possession his old flip phone—if examined, the call history would be bared for the world to see.

The elevator continued to rise.

Whether he knew it or not, Shō had upturned his entire life. Had led his father to kill himself, had led his mother to become a widow. And Sakusa himself—

He remembered being angry back then. Ready to burn the world with hatred and grief.

_"My father does not owe your family justice!" shouted Midorima. "Or do you think that it was fair for that man to go to jail, and for his family to suffer because of his mistakes?!"_

_"I'll only ever be happy if they live in misery for the rest of their fucking lives!" Sakusa screamed._

The doors opened.

And Sakusa was met with the surprised visage of Director Shō Shinya.

" _You_ ," the director whispered.

Then, before Sakusa could say anything, the man turned around and _ran_.

"Oi!" Sakusa bellowed, kicking off his heel and chasing after him. _Shit, he's fast!_ Sakusa was by no means unfit, but it seemed that Shō was unusually active for his age. He had a home-ground advantage, too, more familiar with the twists and turns. He rounded the corner just in time to see Shō burst through the door and into the stairwell. _His best chance would be to escape through car,_ his mind raced, _There should be a basement car park._

His prediction proved to be true. Shō descended down to the lowest the level—the basement. Sakusa was only a few steps behind him and gaining quickly, arm outstretched. The scenery blurred around him, including the four people staring after them with wide eyes. One of them, he realized, was Kageyama Tobio.

Sakusa's hand curled around the back of Shō's shirt, and the man shouted as the button of his shirt pressed against his throat. Legs giving out beneath him, Shō staggered against Sakusa's front. "No more running," Sakusa said icily. "You've already had _six damn years_."

_Click._

His ears pricked at the sound of a gun cocking. Warily, he whipped around to see a man wearing a black hoodie and slacks standing in the middle of the basement, shotgun in hand.

Sakusa froze.

_Kindaichi sputtered. "What the fuck?! You have an AI in your car?!"_

_"The names, Kindaichi-san," prompted Sakusa, a little impatiently._

_"Kunimi Akira, Goshiki Tsutomu, and Yahaba Shigeru. And me, of course."_

_Goshiki Tsutomu._

There were civilians here. Two women, an orange-haired man, and Kageyama.

Slowly, Sakusa stood taller, prepared to take a step toward the armed man.

"All of you, get on the ground," Goshiki ordered, lifting the gun higher. His voice cracked like a whip through the air. " _Now_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: i think i've gotten more evil toward myself, i may have to start undergoing a redemption arc
> 
> thank you for all the comments last chapter! that was probably the biggest response by far to any of the chapters, and i was so happy to be reading all of them!!
> 
> i also received FAN ART for this fic for the very first time. it absolutely blew me out of the water. i didn't think i'd get so far as to actually receive fan art, and i'm so grateful for that.
> 
> your comments and art are love and it fuels me to write like a bat outta hell <3
> 
> emergingbackupartist on tumblr (backround_soul_painter on ao3) made these two lovely pieces!!: [fanart 1](https://emergingbackupartist.tumblr.com/tagged/shard-society)
> 
> i also got sent a picrew edit by Mochi!!: [fanart 2](https://imgur.com/a/xIoRGKi)


	29. Forget-Me-Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hostage situation begins.

**May 8th, 2018**

Kuroo Tetsurou was having a pleasant morning in every way possible. At twenty-three years old, he already had a stable job working as a teacher at Todai and an upcoming job interview with the Japan Volleyball Association's sports promotion division.

A cute girl at the coffee shop next to his apartment had scribbled her number on the takeaway cup today, batting her eyelashes as he grinned at her.

"Can I get four slices of cheesecake, too?" Kuroo had asked, pointing at some cake on the display. He had plans to make nice with his new roommates today, and what better way was there than food to connect people?

"Of course!" the cashier had giggled.

If Oishi had been with him, he was sure she would have done something petty, like throw a drink at her.

 _Ah, Ryoka..._ Things could have been better between them, but they were working on patching things up.

Needless to say, his life was good. Better than good, even—it was a life to be envied.

 _So why..._ Whatever happy jazz music had been playing in his brain came to an abrupt halt when he opened the door to his new dorm with those three guys. _Is there a body on the floor?_

Hurriedly, Kuroo placed his things down and rushed over to where Kindaichi was splayed on the floor, papers scattered around him. He managed to glimpse some of them. _What is all this? Case? Murder? Miya Osamu? Ugh, focus! This guy's life is in your hands!_

"Uh, hey, buddy."

Perhaps it wasn't the best thing he could have said or done, but it was a start.

Mumbling something unintelligible under his breath, Kuroo flipped Kindaichi around, supporting his neck with one hand and using the other to pry one of his eyelids open. "How does this go again...?" _Should I shake him?_ He mulled over the idea in his head before deciding against it. He was pretty sure that it was something he _shouldn't_ do. Kuroo pressed his ear to Kindaichi's chest. _Okay, good, he's still breathing._

It was here where Kuroo began to sweat. _Now what?!_ The extent of his medical knowledge went only as far as the _one_ life-saving class he had taken with Bokuto during summer one time, when the latter had expressed interest in becoming a lifeguard. It had been a mere phase—most things were when it came to Bokuto Koutarou, who could be more fickle than Kenma's capricious calico cat. He also knew how to disinfect and bandage injuries as well as make splints, but Kindaichi had no obvious external injuries.

 _Okay. Calm down, calm down. Since he's unconscious... Does that mean he hit his head? Or... An organ rupture?!_ Panic rising in his throat, Kuroo dug into the back pocket of his jeans for his phone. There was little he could do, so it was probably best to just defer to emergency services at this point.

Then, miraculously, Kindaichi stirred.

 _Hallelujah! Praise the gods!_ "Hey, man," Kuroo smacked his cheek lightly, "Are you alright?" Stupid question, he realized soon after asking it, but it was too late to retract it.

"Ugh, my head..." Kindaichi groaned as he sat up, almost hitting the crown of his head against the soft underside of Kuroo's chin. He gasped. "The case files! And...!" Kuroo waited for him to continue; Kindaichi's mouth moved, but no words came out.

"And?" prompted Kuroo, cautiously.

"Kunimi... No... No it wasn't... It was Goshiki...! I saw him before I...!" With pleading eyes, he looked at Kuroo. "But why?"

"Hey, don't look at _me_. I dunno what happened. I just got here, and you were on the floor, all..." Kuroo stuck out his tongue and flopped to his side. " _Blargh_. Like this."

They both jumped when the door slammed open, and Kunimi reached where they were sitting in two long strides. "Kindaichi!"

"Kunimi?"

"Hey, I'm here, too," piped Kuroo, mock scowling when Kunimi practically shoved him aside to grab Kindaichi by the shoulders.

"Are you okay?" demanded Kunimi. "Did Goshiki come by? Did he... Do anything to you?"

Kuroo scrambled over to the couch as Kindaichi nodded stiffly; the former turned on the television.

"He," Kindaichi sounded like he didn't believe what he was saying, " _hit_ me. On the _head_. With what, I didn't see. But it was heavy."

 _Ah, so that was it, huh?_ Kuroo sipped on his coffee, going through multiple channels before stopping on a news one. _Goshiki bonked him on the noggin._

"I know what it is," Kunimi said, unusually grave. Kuroo pretended not to listen, one arm extending to the side to reach for his bag of cheesecakes. "Honestly, I'm just glad he didn't..." He exhaled sharply. "It was a gun, Kindaichi. Goshiki has a gun."

Kuroo choked on his coffee, coughing and hacking. "Excuse me, _what_?"

But Kunimi didn't have to reply, because the answer came to all of them just seconds later.

 _"Breaking news,"_ the stern anchorwoman on television started, helicopter footage of police cars and ambulances surrounding a dingy apartment building appearing on screen. _"A gunman has taken six people hostage in the basement car park of Dreaming Poker Heights Complex. Three of the hostages have been identified—one is a resident of the building and the other two are Prosecutor Sakusa Kiyoomi and Director Shō Shinya._

 _"Those in the area are advised to stay away from the site and lock their doors. No shots have been fired yet. Police are currently negotiating with the perpetrator, who has yet to be identified... Oh..."_ Her eyes widened in surprise ever so slightly as she lifted a hand to her earpiece. She recovered quickly, amending, _"This just in, the gunman has been identified as University of Tokyo student_ Goshiki Tsutomu _. We will keep you updated with the situation."_

A deafening silence enveloped the room.

"No," Kindaichi's voice shook, "No, it can't be... What the _fuck_ is he doing?!" He got up, brushing away Kunimi's hand. "I've got to stop him!"

"Kindaichi!" Kunimi grabbed his arm, grip firm. "Are you insane? You can't go!"

"I, for one," Kuroo added through a mouthful of cake, "am inclined to agree. He has a _gun_ , Kindaichi. You know—pew pew? Those things _kill_ people."

"I know that!" snapped Kindaichi, yanking his arm from Kunimi's grasp. "But Sakusa is there!"

Kunimi pressed his lips into a thin line. "He can handle himself. He's a prosecutor—I'm sure he's been trained before."

"But against a gun?"

"Are you even hearing yourself? If Sakusa can't do anything about the situation, what makes you think that you can?!"

"I don't _know_ , okay?!" Kindaichi burst out. "But 'Shiki... Goshiki's my friend! He's _our_ friend!"

"Goshiki has _never_ been our friend! This is a _suicide mission_! You're already lucky he didn't fucking _kill_ you!"

Kindaichi did a double-take at that, jaw agape. "What do you mean he's never...? Ugh, _forget_ it! I'm _sick_ and _tired_ ," he jabbed a finger in Kunimi's face, "of running away! I... I made a promise that I wouldn't be a fucking _coward_ anymore! Argh!" Kindaichi clutched the back of his head, hissing through gritted teeth.

Kunimi reached out a hand. "Kindaichi—"

"No." Kindaichi met his gaze, steely. "No more running away. It's time we face the truth. _Both_ of us."

Kunimi's hand fell to the side. "So... You know now?"

"It's all a blur," admitted Kindaichi, rubbing where Kuroo presumed Goshiki had whacked him. "But it's a start."

The voice of the anchorwoman started up again. _"The resident has been identified as University of Tokyo student_ Kageyama Tobio _..."_

And Kindaichi took a deep breath. "You can't stop me." With that, he marched to the door, pulling his jacket on.

Kuroo half-stood from the couch. "Hey. Hey, man, wait up!"

But Kindaichi was gone by the time he and Kunimi reached the door.

"I can't believe this shit," Kuroo said dumbly. "He's not really gonna... Nah... He wouldn't, right?"

He felt Kunimi's shoulder twitch against him. "That dumbass... He never ceases to surprise me." Then, to Kuroo's surprise, he squirmed outside. "I'm going after him. You can stay here if you want."

"I..." _Shit, what am I even supposed to do?_ As Kuroo watched Kunimi vanish down the hall, he palmed his face. "Are they all idiots?" But now that two of his roommates were going...

Kuroo closed the door. "Nope. I am _not_ doing this shit." Instead of running into danger and likely death, he stored the cheesecakes in the fridge, cracked open a beer, and took his laptop out of his bag. There was sure to be a live stream of what was currently happening online—and sure enough, he found one on Spacebook. He opened Tweeter in another tab, too, so he could keep himself updated. Netizens from all across Japan were already spamming tweets with the hashtag _#todaishooter_. A bad representation for the university, for sure, but Kuroo couldn't bring himself to care about that. To think just this morning he was planning to banter and laugh over cake with them. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. _Please, guys... Don't die out there._

* * *

In no universe would Kageyama Tobio have predicted that he'd be staring into the jaws of death today, and in his very own apartment building no less. It was supposed to have been a tedious, mundane day—mornings and afternoons spent serving customers and trying to figure out the cash register.

His only comfort was that he wasn't alone—both a blessing and a curse.

Sunano had lost all color in her cheeks and had her hands and feet bound with rope. The rest of them were in a similar position—all tied up and laying on their sides or struggling to stay upright with the wall as their only support.

Pressed up against Hinata, he could feel the other man's heart thudding in his chest. Or maybe it was his own—it was too hard to tell.

"The police are already here, huh?" Goshiki said aloud, his voice ringing through the car park and sending chills down Kageyama's spine. "That was quick. I guess they're not totally moronic." He peered up briefly at a security camera that was pointing at them. "Or maybe it's because I've got two important people down here with me. Is that it? I bet this is gonna make the papers." His jaw clenched. "They didn't even know my name back then!" He yanked Shō's hair, forcing his head to tilt backward. The older man had his eyes squeezed shut, his lips pulled downward in pained grimace. "What happened between us... Didn't even make the fucking papers! A tabloid here and there... But so what? All eyes are on _us_ now."

"Goshiki-san," Sakusa interrupted, keeping his voice level and controlled. "Don't do this. Whatever issues you have with him can be resolved through the law."

"No, it can't!" seethed Goshiki, whipping around to face him. "I want him to say it to my _face_."

Shō licked his lips nervously. "Say what?"

At that, Goshiki backed away from him and began to pace, hand clasped over his mouth. Kageyama watched with wary eyes as Goshiki walked a circle in the middle of the car park before finally stopping next to Sunano's van. A strangled gasp tore from Sunano's throat when he slammed the butt of his gun against the sliding door. Kageyama gave her a quick glance—it was just a rental. _So what's with that reaction?_

"Do _not_!" barked Goshiki, pointing the barrel at Shō. "Fuck with me right now!"

"I-I'm sorry." Shō gulped. "But I... truly don't recognize you."

"Kageyama," Hinata whispered, a waver in his tone betraying urgency. " _Kageyama_."

Kageyama didn't dare respond. He just nodded, the movement barely perceptible.

"I..." Hinata trailed off when Goshiki's gaze slid to them.

Goshiki sighed, massaging his temple with his free hand. "This got messier than I expected. Good thing I planned ahead, huh?" After removing his black backpack, he strapped his gun diagonally around his body and unzipped the bag, retrieving several glass bottles of a clear liquid. "Does anyone here know what this is? No? I guessed as much. That's okay—all you have to know a high dose of this is fatal."

One by one, he administered the liquid into their veins. It was with practiced precision, Kageyama noticed. Once he was finished, Goshiki tossed the syringe on the ground and crushed it underfoot.

The effects were not immediate, but it wasn't long before Kageyama started feeling drowsy. Slumped on Kageyama's side, Hinata was struggling to keep his eyelids open.

"Goshiki-san," slurred Hinata. "Goshiki-san, there's something I need to..."

"Shō-san, right?" Goshiki squatted in front of Shō, turning a deaf ear to Hinata's message.

"What?" rasped Shō. "What do you want from me?"

"You should _know_ what I want." Goshiki stared unblinkingly, lifting up the a clear bottle for Shō to see. "What I've given you is different from what I gave the others. See how they're all starting to fall asleep? You don't get that privilege. Instead, I'll start increasing your dose higher and higher... Until your body gives out and you die. You're old now, aren't you? You're not as young as you used to be. It'll be easy to kill you."

Shō quivered, leaning back to try and escape death. "What do you want from me? I-I'll give you anything! My money, my properties, my job..."

But Goshiki shook his head. "I don't want any of that."

"T-then... What _do_ you want?"

"I told you not to fuck with me!" bellowed Goshiki, his voice sounding further and further away. "What the... Who are you?"

"I'm unarmed," an unknown man announced, and Kageyama imagined him lifting his arms up. "I'm with the police. Can we talk?"

Kageyama flinched when Goshiki's face contorted, grotesque. The world exploded around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt debris the size of crumbs and flakes raining down on his head.

The first shot had been fired.

 _Into the ceiling._ Groggily, Kageyama peered up.

And the world faded to grey.

* * *

Yamaka Mika hopped out of the ambulance driver's seat, stony-faced. "We got radioed here. What's the situation?" she demanded from a fellow paramedic who had arrived before her. _God_ , she thought when her coworker described what was happening inside the building. _God help them._ Briefly, she wondered if her boyfriend, Daishou, was tuning in somewhere—safely. Their anniversary was tonight, but Mika wasn't sure if she would be able to make it to dinner on time. Hostage situations could be long, and it was just one or two hours till sunset.

Including her ambulance, there were four in total.

Her EMT partner, Miyanoshita Eri, was looking more grave than Mika had ever seen her.

There was a barrier of shifting bodies in front of them—police in heavy gear with shields and helmets.

 _This job is gonna give me premature grays._ She would be transferring to become a nurse soon, which would give her more time to spend with Daishou. Mika turned her head slightly when she heard two normally dressed officers exchanging some words.

"How many casualties are we expecting?"

"He hasn't fired yet, so we're hoping for none. But... We should prepare for the worst."

"Dammit..." To Mika's left, a dark-haired police officer was passing his hand through his hair, frustrated at his own helplessness. "Where the hell is Waka?"

"Calm yourself, Sawamura," another officer, this one older, gruffed. "You're an inspector now."

Sawamura Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Superintendent. I'm just a bit worked up, that's all." Something about the inspector told Mika that there was more to his worries than what met the eye. But before she could ponder anymore on it, there came a shout from the back.

Tensing, Mika turned, expecting the worst.

"Let me through!" a tall man with an undercut was yelling, pushing past the officers. Behind him, another man was slowing to a stop behind the police tape, chest heaving.

"Kindaichi?" Daichi uttered, eyes round. "Excuse me, coming through..." Mika stepped aside. "Kindaichi, what are you doing here? This isn't a civilian zone!"

"I know, I know, but...! 'Shiki—uh, the shooter! I know him! Just let me talk to him. _Please_."

But Daichi was adamant, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm sorry, Kindaichi, but I cannot—in good conscience—allow you to do that. I'll escort you to safety—"

"Daichi-san, _please_!" begged Kindaichi.

" _No_. It's too dangerous. You're not even supposed to be here."

"You don't understand. I need to talk to him. He... He's not a bad guy. He won't hurt me."

Eri nudged Mika. "Am I hearing right? That guy wants to go talk to the shooter?"

"I'm not sure," Mika said, noncommittal.

Yells of surprise rippled throughout the crowd of police and emergency services personnel when a loud pop went off. The hairs on the back of Mika's neck rose. If she wasn't mistaken, that was a gunshot. The shooter had fired the first bullet. _Oh my god..._

Through the confusion, Kindaichi managed to dodge Daichi and bulldoze his way to the front, just behind the line of police officers in heavy protective gear. It was then the hostage negotiator emerged from the car park, a tired expression on his mien.

"Superintendent Keishi," the negotiator reported, standing up straighter. "The shooter wants a megaphone."

"A megaphone?" repeated the superintendent, baffled. "Well, go give him one!"

"Yessir!"

A megaphone was acquired, and the negotiator sent back with it. Kindaichi watched, helpless, as the negotiator was sent back into the danger zone. Mika began to notice a few civilians starting to gather around the area, too, just beyond the boundaries set by the police tape. Almost all of them had their phones out and were filming—she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or disgusted by their desperate attempts at fifteen minutes of fame.

"Excuse me." Someone tapped on her shoulder. It was the man who had followed Kindaichi—he had decided to cross the police tape after all.

"How did you get past?" Mika demanded.

He rolled his eyes. "I slipped through when the first shot was fired. Let me just go get my friend, and then we'll be out of your hair."

"Yeah, well—"

A buzz. A crackle. A metallic squeal that had Mika wincing and covering her ears. She was too short to see over the heads of the police officers, so she asked, "Sir? Can you tell me what's happening?"

"Goshiki came out," Kunimi said, balking. "And..."

"Nobody come a _step_ closer," Goshiki's voice boomed through the megaphone. "Or I'll blow her brains out."

Cursing, Mika stepped around Kunimi and onto the foothold of her ambulance to survey what was happening from a higher vantage point. He had his foot pushing the head of a petite blonde to the concrete, the woman's hair curtaining her face. The barrel of the shotgun kissed her temple. It was an awkward position for such a long weapon, but Mika was sure Goshiki would be able to kill her before the cops killed him.

The superintendent held his arms up. "What are your demands?"

"I don't have any," Goshiki told them, his lip curling. "What I want is to be _undisturbed_."

"I'm sorry," said Keishi. "But it would put everyone at ease if we have one of our men with you. Is there any way you could possibly accommodate to that?"

Goshiki held the superintendent's stare, then glanced up at the helicopter circling the area.

"'Shiki?"

Goshiki lowered the gun, and audible clicks sounded as several police officers prepared to shoot to kill. Cheek pressed against ground, the female hostage stirred, only freezing when she felt the barrel of the gun on her skin again. His lips twisted into a smile. "Hey, Kindaichi. I should've hit you harder. Then you wouldn't have to see this shitshow until tomorrow's news broadcast."

"'Shiki, can you put down the gun?" Kindaichi asked, gingerly. "Please?"

"Sorry, Kindaichi, no can do. If I do, I'll never get what I want."

"Then..." Kindaichi paused. "What _do_ you want?"

Mika sucked in a breath.

"Who's in charge here?" Goshiki asked suddenly.

"Me," the superintendent said, palming his chest. "What do you want, Goshiki-san?"

"Kindaichi, go put on that guy's," Goshiki tilted his head toward the negotiator, "jacket."

The negotiator looked down at his front—displayed on his bulletproof vest in white block letters was 'NEGOTIATOR'.

"Hold on a second," protested the superintendent.

"No buts. Or do you want her to die? If you're gonna have one of 'your' men with me, it's gonna be _him_." Goshiki narrowed his eyes, finger tapping on the trigger. "Well, Kindaichi? What're you waiting for?"

Keishi conceded. "Very well. Waka, give Kindaichi-san your vest."

"Yessir. Um, here."

"Y-yeah, thanks."

Mika watched as Kindaichi and Waka fumbled in their exchange, the latter almost dropping the vest to the floor. "There's a body-cam and a mic attached," she caught Waka mouthing slowly to Kindaichi, "Please be careful."

 _Yes. Please._ The lower the body count the better. From her point of view, they were on the losing side—a civilian had just been handed over the job of a seasoned police officer at the behest of the shooter. That just meant one more hostage for him. _But he said they were friends... Will he be able to talk some sense into him?_

"Kindaichi."

Kindaichi whipped around to see Kunimi approaching him slowly, the latter's eyes occasionally flicking warily to where Goshiki was waiting. "Kunimi..." Then, to Mika's surprise, Kindaichi managed to crack a smile. "We're gonna have a lot to talk about later on."

"I—" Kunimi cut himself off. "Yeah. We do." He stared at Goshiki—who was throwing the megaphone aside—again, this time for longer. "All of us."

If his gaze flicked to the shooter's foot, Mika didn't notice.

Goshiki readily responded, "Sure. Kindaichi, walk right behind me."

It was like seeing a man march toward his death. Mika couldn't keep her eyes off the scene—Kindaichi's long, lean figure following Goshiki into the gaping mouth of the basement car park, utterly at the latter's mercy. In this instance, Kindaichi was little more than a meat shield—something to make sure that no one would shoot Goshiki while his back was turned. The young woman he had brought out with him was also being dragged inside, her woolen sweater beginning to tear and unravel as it chafed against the gravel.

When they were gone, Mika closed her eyes and released a breath, hearing her heart pound between her ears.

* * *

 **KuroTetsu** _@Kuroo_Tetsurou1_

**! PLEASE HELP THIS TWEET GET TO THE TOP OF #todaishooter !**

I AM A CHEMISTRY TEACHER AT THE UNIVERSITY OF TOKYO. RECENTLY, WE'VE EXPERIENCED A BURGLARY REGARDING SEVERAL CHEMICALS. I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE THAT THE SHOOTER IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE THEFT, AND IT IS HIGHLY LIKELY HE IS USING A COMBINATION OF **FENTANYL** AND A VARIETY OF **BENZODIAZEPINES** TO SEDATE THE HOSTAGES. EMERGENCY SERVICES, PLEASE HAVE **NALOXONE** ON STANDBY.

134️🗨️ 5.2k⟲ 9k♡

> **applepi** (✔) _@kodzuken_
> 
> Retweet this. Make sure the police see this.
> 
> 331️🗨️ 7.9k⟲ 11k♡
> 
> ⟲ retweeted by **_shirofukukuku, SCHWEIDAN'S SMALL GIANT (_** ✔ ** _), Takeda Ittetsu, anything, gamer lads where u at, suga_sensei, BOKUTO BEAM (_** ✔ ** _), read Zombie Knight Zom'Bish, Gentle Giant Fashions, enagyaru, Natsume-chan, Ryoka (_** ✔ ** _), The Prettier Okazaki, R I N, jazz cow, Witching Hour Kisaragi, Jay, BijuuMike, Visit Our Dessert Shop Today!, The Meian Man (_** ✔ ** _),_** ** _backround_soul_painter, ptherter, squealing_pig_1, qiina, kaedu, besonders, ainsalaco, Knoodles, Lena_with_a_box, yemeles, catsumu, jonginspup, 00Cee_Cee00, eoneris, gyumimir, GoldenLu, beautifulstars, Sharohn, BRN03, skittle_star, shamojaax, xingmiddae, bokutos_official_simp, Lineal, Asocle, Little_Flame, viaviab, Tatiana, Momo_Supermacy, abrightgrayworld, glad9, plsignoreme, savanno, YPhong, bitch_baby, bullet_club, cheesecake2109, where_is_the_chocolate, JCAL_18, noktifer, Koawvos, hubbabubbabubblegum, kiyoomichan, EliosVelasques, chxxya666, peachy_greentea, yuelia114, Toxicxspots, SHONENRAMEN, ladygeekyy, ignisetsanguis, xxx_hq_anm_24, Lozza342, ZorroAEB, kyizha, Mxii, DateHanajima, Nooneasks, misteaq, aetheral, Niamidan, Nadjou, CatyDesigner, iellah94, oyanekoma, kenmakoo, Lapinporokoira, lemonpuree, the_blue_dandelion, ItsYaGirlMegera, Seofkjin, altrurenstic, life_drifter, Vibing_n_Writing, okinawas, PerfidiousFate, TheSolEclipse, xuxisushii, phosophenes, Somekid2087, jeonjungkinky, Goatly_Sacrifices, littlestarsaligned, oec_yo0mi, Saharashin, Japanesepengi, KanameZero4Eva, akaashiii, DelicateMushroom, peejohella, I61K, Just_Jellyfish, ultimatewrite_r, RexxSorrows, Paramichi, riumairu, CarlTheGreat, patrochiles, emilian_dreams, Tooruhoe, thepointofnoreturn, raayachez, shinzen, SearchingForPluto, annuchii, yangcang, goldexperience29, Maximiu, AriaLuc, runningfromrealitytoanime, Alphaarian, smileylcat, Babe_baba, Smort, Sevensshi and YukippeTodo_** ** _and 7.9k others_**

"Superintendent Keishi, look."

"Hm?" Keishi, who had been observing the outside of the apartment complex, peered over a more junior officer's computer. His bushy mustache twitched in distaste. "Tweeter? I do _not_ appreciate you surfing social media on the job, Sergeant Chigusa."

Chigusa shook his head, adjusting the laptop on his folding table. "No, no! Take a look at this, sir, and you'll understand."

"Naloxone?"

"Naloxone hydrochloride," Mika supplied as she and Eri joined Chigusa and Keishi. "It's a drug we use to reverse opioid overdose, but the effect is only temporary." She exchanged a glance with the EMT, troubled. "We don't have any in our van, though. We weren't expecting drugs to be involved at all..."

"Ask the other medics," ordered Keishi. "We need one, stat, enough for all of the hostages plus Kindaichi-san. Who knows what that psycho's gonna do next..."

"On it."

As she left with Eri, Keishi regarded the computer screen thoughtfully. "Waka did say that the hostages were definitely drugged from appearance alone. That tweet could very well save some lives..."

Both tweets from Kuroo and Kenma were accumulating likes and retweets at an alarming speed, the numbers climbing higher and higher with each refresh done by Chigusa. It was clear to them, then, that the entire nation had their attention on the situation from the safety of their homes or workplaces. From just a simple scan of his surroundings, Keishi could see (and hear) that the press were already swarming around the police tape. More than one news helicopter was circling the sky above as well.

 _This is going to be a media shitstorm, ain't it?_ Keishi sighed, the weight of the world compounding on his creaky shoulders. "Sergeant, keep me updated."

"Yessir."

* * *

He could hear each of his footsteps thudding against the floor. It made him feel oddly self-conscious. Throat bobbing, he didn't stop walking until Goshiki did, the latter letting go of the blond woman. She slumped against the wall, big blue eyes boring into Kindaichi's. He tried to look away, but found he couldn't take his attention off them—they were questioning with a hint of terror.

 _Are we going to die?_ she seemed to ask.

 _And that's the question, isn't it?_ Kindaichi stayed stock-still as Goshiki introduced more of his chemical concoction into Shō's veins. He hadn't been lying when he declared to Kunimi and Daichi that Goshiki was a good friend of his, but... _How much do I really know about him? He barely talks about his personal life._ _Do I... really know anything about him?_

"What's with that look?" Goshiki asked him, calmly.

"Why are you doing this?"

Goshiki considered his question. Then he shook his head. "You wouldn't get it."

"Then..." He cautioned a step forward. "Help me understand."

"Why should I?" retorted Goshiki. "You weren't even supposed to _be_ here. This has nothing to do with you."

"Then why did you invite me in here?"

"Revenge."

It was not Goshiki who had spoken.

The two men turned to where Sakusa was sitting, his arms bound behind his back. His mask had been ripped off his face. "It's revenge," Sakusa continued. "Isn't it?"

"Revenge?" parroted Kindaichi, his heart dropping to his stomach.

Goshiki clutched his weapon tighter. Defensively. "You're awake already, huh? Tch. Don't give it such an ugly name."

"It doesn't matter what name you call it," Sakusa shot back. "Revenge is still revenge. And the person you want revenge on..." He glanced at Shō. "You're gonna have to get in line."

The barrel was aimed between his eyes. "You wanna die?"

"Don't!" cried Kindaichi, holding his hands out. "Don't shoot. Please. It... He's done a lot of bad things, 'Shiki. I know. God, trust me, I know. But... This isn't the way to go about things. We're gonna put him behind bars for the rest of his life. And death penalty isn't off the table either. So please... Lower the gun."

"No... No!" Goshiki grit his teeth, pointing the gun at Shō. "I need to hear it! I need to hear him say it!"

"Say what, 'Shiki?!"

"Why did you ruin my life?!" Goshiki roared, spittle flying at a cowering Shō. "Why didn't you stop?! _Why didn't you stop the fucking car?! TELL ME!_ "

Kindaichi shuffled back, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He looked to the side, where Kageyama, Hinata, and Shino were all staring back blearily. "I'll get you out of here," he mouthed, "I promise."

_Even Kageyama._

_No._

_There's no 'even' about it._

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Shō broke, a dry sob cracking his voice. "Please... I have a family..."

"You weren't the only one with a precious family," Sakusa responded cuttingly, pure disgust lacing his tone.

Goshiki turned his attention to him for a split second before hissing to Shō, "Confess. Confess _right now_."

"Confess what?!"

"Do I really mean that little to you?!" Kindaichi opened his mouth to protest when Goshiki hit the old man across the face with the butt of the gun, then bit his tongue. "You really," Goshiki laughed, mirthlessly, "Don't remember me... Do you?"

"... I'm sorry."

"I can't fucking _believe_ this."

"Goshiki-san," Sakusa started, only for a gulping noise to interrupt him.

"Help...!"

 _Huh?_ Kindaichi did a double-take at Sunano's heaving form, her body practically folding in on itself as she gasped, mouth gaping and saliva escaping from the corners of her lips. "What's happening to her...?!"

"She..."

Their gazes drifted to Hinata, who was just beginning to wake.

Hinata blinked, trying to fight the artificial sleep that beckoned him. His head hung. "I've been trying to tell you guys... Sunano-san... Has always had a weak heart... And with the drug..." When he looked up at Goshiki, there was a solemness that made Kindaichi's mouth go dry present in his electrifying gaze.

_"She's having a heart attack."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Did I really plug in all the signed-in people who left a kudos in this work on AO3? Yes, Yes I did.
> 
> Next chapter, more characters kinda 'join the fray' as observers.
> 
> I wasn't gonna update today, but then I realized it's the Miya Twins' birthday (not in AUS anymore since it's like 1am past, but in other places it still is lol) so I went ahead and finished the rest of his chapter. I don't normally do anything for the birthdays of fictional characters, but I guess I made an exception this time.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments!! I loved reading each and every one of them. Though I may take a while to respond, please know that I really do adore them all.
> 
> On a side note, I discovered a song the other day that I thought fit Sakusa (or the SS version) to a tee. So I made a video for it here: [clean freak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKzi_7iPJXU&feature=youtu.be&ab_channel=sakuatsubraindead)
> 
> On ANOTHER side note, I hope everybody still keeps in mind about Sakusa's zodiac tendencies. Because while that trait of his has taken a back seat, it's still relatively important to his character. It'll come back around the Blank Period, where Sakusa's backstory is explored :D
> 
> EDIT: How could I forget? I'm so deeply ashamed. The lovely Lena made two beautiful pieces of art for this fic and it seems it melted my brain too much. [atsumu](https://www.instagram.com/p/CF2DGuhA9xa/) and [sakusa](https://www.instagram.com/p/CFwfv5GgZoW/)


	30. Our Fallen Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hostage situation continues--more and more people are tuning in and waiting with bated breath.

**June 3rd, 2007**

_Ah. There's so much blood._

Something dug into spine as he collapsed on his back, peering blankly at the cornflower blue sky. His hands were slick with blood—his own, he was sure. Behind him, he could hear Natsu wailing—not in pain, but in terror.

"Dear!" his mother was shrieking, trying to haul her husband out of the crushed driver's seat. She was bleeding from a head wound—a drop of blood fell from the end of her nose. "Dear, please! Someone! Someone, help us! Help us!"

"Daddy!" Natsu continued to bawl. "Get daddy out of the car!"

But Hinata couldn't move. Could only gaze into the sky with bloodless lips and colorless cheeks.

His legs hurt.

It was a windy afternoon.

A Sunday.

 _Where were we going again?_ Hinata asked himself, head spinning. _Oh... A picnic... It was a picnic..._

_"ANYONE, HELP US!"_

* * *

**May 8th, 2018**

"Don't you have any tuna? Or sashimi?"

"Take it or leave it, Miya."

Atsumu chuckled as he picked up the gravy-doused chicken breast between his chopsticks. "Alright, alright, doctor. But do you really hafta be here while I eat?"

Naoko slowly lifted a brow. "I'd... rather not take any chances. Just pretend I'm not here."

"I'm not gonna try and off myself again if that's whatcha mean."

"Just pretend I'm not here," Naoko repeated, smoothly deflecting his pointed remark.

"Can ya at least turn on the TV then?"

She obliged him that much, for which Atsumu was grateful for. Television would be a nice distraction from his thoughts right now—he didn't want to think about the tiny flat he had definitely missed rent for, or—more pressingly—that he was now alone in this world. Naoko gave him a look when he stabbed through his chicken cleanly with his utensils. She flicked through the channels, waiting for Atsumu to tell her to stop.

As channel after channel flashed on screen, he noticed that most of them were news reports—it wasn't quite six o'clock yet, so he had to wonder why they were showing a news program now. "Stop," Atsumu instructed. She did. "What the...?"

"A hostage situation?" Naoko mused, frowning.

 _"Yet another update on the Todai Shooter situation,"_ the newswoman was saying, solemn in her delivery. _"The shooter, identified as Goshiki Tsutomu, has demanded a civilian replace the official police negotiator. We have reporter Kurokawa Najimi-san on the scene live right now—Kurokawa-san, what can you tell us?"_

 _"Well," Kurokawa said, loudly, as to get her voice to float above the noise. "We've just gotten a report that the civilian is not only also a student at the University of Tokyo, but the roommate of the shooter!"_ She pursed her lips as she held a hand to her earpiece. _"And this just in, too! His name is Kindaichi Yuutarou, and he's studying for his Juris Doctor in—"_

Kurokawa yelped when a hand covered the camera, making the anchorwoman startle. _"Kurokawa-san, is everything okay?"_

 _"Cut the cameras!"_ the owner of the hand snapped. The frame shook as people tried to wrestle whoever had interrupted away. _"I said the cut the damn cameras! Stop treating this like some elementary school field trip!"_

Atsumu's chicken, which had been on a journey from the tray to his mouth, plopped onto his peas.

The snarling face of Kunimi Akira was present on the screen for five seconds before it cut out.

 _"We'll revisit the scene at a later time,"_ the anchorwoman declared, shuffling her papers. There was another transitioned, this time to a male reporter standing outside the Public Prosecutors Office. _"Now to Shigemoto Kento-san, who is live in front of the Public Prosecutors Office. Shigemoto-san, what is going on there?"_

 _"Evening, Sasai-san,"_ Shigemoto rumbled, holding his microphone closer to his lips. _"What we're seeing here right now,"_ he moved aside to show the viewers a team of suit-clad security guards guarding the entrance, _"Is the preparation for Chief Prosecutor Midorima Shintaro-san to exit the building and be escorted to the current hostage situation. It is known information that one of the hostages—Sakusa Kiyoomi-san—is a notorious prosecutor of the law. He is infamous to criminals and lawyers alike for his one-hundred percent success rate, and undoubtedly a valuable asset to the criminal justice system. His significance may explain why Midorima-san is choosing to leave the building to assess the site itself._ "

 _What?_ The rock that had formed in Atsumu's stomach was quickly turning into a ball of ice and spreading like a cancer in his blood. "Sakusa?" he parroted, dumbfounded by the reveal. "Like," he turned to Naoko, who seemed uneasy, "The man who...?"

"Saved you, yes." She took a sharp intake of breath. "The very one..."

"Shit. Shit, shit, _shit!_ " _Why him?_ _Why did it have to be him?_ Was everyone decent in his life destined to leave him forever? "Fuck," he lowered his chopsticks, burying his face into one palm, "How did this even happen? _Why_ is this happenin'?" _What if he dies, too?_ Atsumu barely knew the man, but it was just too _unfair_ for him to go like this.

"I don't know," Naoko answered honestly, sinking into the chair Sakusa normally sat in. "And before you ask me if they're going to be okay... I don't know either."

Atsumu clenched his fists in his lap.

They would just have to wait and see.

* * *

Sunano was a hard worker. This much, Hinata knew. She opened up the shop at seven-thirty in the morning every day without complaint, and took insults of the the occasional raging customer with unruffled feathers. She was a strong figure in his life, one that he never knew he needed. It was hard to imagine her with any vulnerabilities—she was supposed to be his infallible boss.

But one day, they had sat down together and spoken. The conversation had started off about Hinata's current wages, then—as conversations usually did—went off on a tangent.

"A heart condition?" Hinata had blinked owlishly. "You?"

"Yes, me," Sunano had chuckled, greatly amused by his perplexed reaction. "It's genetic, so I can't really help it. It sucks, but I can deal with it."

_But now..._

"She's having a heart attack," Hinata told them, doing his best not to slur his words. If his hands were free, he would have clapped them together as he begged, "Please! She needs medical attention! _Now!_ "

"I..." Goshiki faltered before his eyes hardened. "No. No one's going anywhere until he tells me _why_."

 _No!_ Hinata stared at him, desperation clawing up his throat.

"'Shiki," gulped Kindaichi, biting his lip. "She'll _die_."

Goshiki shook his head, as if he had been afflicted with a great burden. "Then," he wavered once more, "This bastard better start talking _fast_."

"She's _innocent_."

_"Well, so was I!"_

"You still are," Sakusa told him, the only thing betraying his anxiety the tension in his shoulders. "But you won't be if she dies."

And that was the truth, wasn't it? It sounded too resolute to be anything but. _Is it, though? Are we only innocent until the moment somebody's blood is on our hands?_ Hinata struggled to sit up, Kageyama's head resting on his bony shoulder. The latter was still out cold, occasionally fading back into reality for seconds at a time. "Hey," Hinata said, hoarsely. "Untie me."

"What?" Goshiki narrowed his eyes. "Why should I?"

"So I can beg at your feet to save her." Hinata slumped forward, his knees hitting the concrete with a muffled thud. His jeans scraped against the ground, leaving a dusty stain on the material, as he shuffled forward toward where Goshiki was standing, dumbstruck.

But the man soon recovered, stepping backward in thinly veiled disgust when Hinata's chin almost touched his foot. "Stop. _Stop_."

"I'll only stop if you let her go," Hinata replied stubbornly, glaring up at him. "Keep the rest of us if you want, but let her go."

"Hah!" Goshiki barked a laugh, a tremble in the harsh noise. "Why do you care so much? Is this some escape plan of yours? It's not gonna work, so shut the _hell_ up."

"Is it really that foreign to you?" demanded Hinata, still not backing down despite Kindaichi frantically making an 'x' sign with his arms and shaking his head behind Goshiki. "The fact that people care about each other? That we have empathy? People we care about and don't wanna see get hurt? Are..." He swallowed. "Are you even human?"

Kindaichi's eyes widened when Goshiki flinched, violently, at the question, as if he had been struck. The gun rattled, his finger loosening around the trigger. "He didn't mean it," Kindaichi tried to salvage the moment, his hands shaking as he tentatively reached out, "'Shiki, he didn't mean it—"

But Goshiki wasn't listening to him, instead using one hand to roll up the fabric of his right pant leg.

Metal engulfed Hinata's field of vision just as he fell to his side, unable to resist gravity without the balance of his arms and legs any longer.

 _A prosthetic,_ Hinata realized.

"You should be asking _him_ ," Goshiki spat, pointing one trembling finger at Shō, who was watching everything unfold with clouded eyes. "You should be asking the man who condemned me to... to _this_!"

Speechless, Kindaichi could only watch as Goshiki kicked Hinata back to his place against the wall, where he fell against Kageyama's unconscious form.

Hinata coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. "You..."

"He took _everything_ from me." Goshiki started to pace, chuckling mirthlessly to himself as he passed his hand through his hair, repeating the motion several times. "Do you hear me?! _Everything_! I..." He choked on a sob. "My entire life... Volleyball... The way my family looked at me... Just... _gone_. How can you expect me to live like this, huh?!" He turned to Shō, the muscles in his face twitching. " _How_?! Tell me!"

Shō's throat bobbed. "I-I..."

"I can't stop dropping them. All... the pieces. I've been picking up the pieces over and over again, but they keep _falling_."

And maybe it was a strange moment for it to happen, but Hinata understood then. The weight of the pain he carried, pain that could've filled the entire room and spilled out and across the streets of the entire city until everything was submerged. It could have washed away Kindaichi, could have swept the man off his feet like a thundering tsunami as he knelt next to Sunano, panic alight in his eyes.

Picking each shard of himself up, each piece cutting into his skin and lining his palms with scars thick with resentment and melancholy that would cling to him for the rest of his life. The joints of his knees feeling like they were about to break every time he lowered himself to recollect the fragments that kept slipping from his fingers. It was _tiring_ , and it was _hard_.

He still remembered that day. It was summer, and he hadn't been able to carry the picnic basket with his scrawny arms, so Natsu had helped him in lifting the heavy basket into the car. He remembered being embarrassed, because he had to enlist a five-year-old for assistance.

"Shouyou is so funny!" Natsu had cheered as she clicked her seat belt in, a wide grin on her face. "Shouyou, Shouyou—D'ya think you can bike over _this_ mountain?"

"Of course I can!" Hinata had huffed in return, ruffling her hair. Strawberry shampoo. Soft. _Home_. "Your big brother can do _anything_ , and don't you forget it, Natsu-chan."

It was weird to him now, that he was suddenly missing the family he had once had. Tears fell from his eyes, freely, and Goshiki almost mirrored his expression in that instance. Kindaichi was still kneeling next to a convulsing Sunano, shooting a questioning look up at Goshiki—then at Sakusa, who was _too_ quiet—that remained unseen.

"Hinata?" Kageyama's voice sounded next to him. It was sleepy and barely there, but worried.

"You're not alone," Hinata told Goshiki. "I know how it feels like. To lose everything you care for in one fell swoop."

"No," Goshiki whispered harshly. "No, you _don't_."

"I _do_ ," Hinata emphasized, firmly. "You're not the only one who's had to pick up the pieces. I lost everyone. My mom, my dad, my little sister... I had to give up on volleyball, on my dream. My dream... to be the Small Giant. I was in a wheelchair for weeks. Crutches for even longer. Even now, when the weather gets cold, it hurts. But... that's where the similarities end." His gaze steeled. "We might have lost everything, but at least I didn't choose the road you did. You're so desperate to bring him down to the level that he brought you down to... That you're willing to take the rest of us with you. Am I wrong? Because I want to be."

"You—!"

"Wait."

Everybody stared at Shō, their bemusement clear as day.

"You're Hinata-kun," the old man said. "Right?"

"E-eh?" Hinata blinked. "Yeah, I am... Hang on... You're...!" he trailed off, perhaps unable to find the words.

"It's hard not to recognize that hair," Shō murmured eventually, looking up and at Hinata. "Everything I've ever done, everything that I've ever regretted... began on that day. If I tell you everything," he added to Goshiki, "Will you let them go? I'm not sure... If I can handle any more bodies to my name."

* * *

Shirabu looked up from the coffee machine at the sound of papers being slapped on the counter in front of him. Smith grinned sheepishly at him. "Miyazawa-san asked me to deliver these to you," he explained. "They're all autopsy reports that need to be filed and archived by tonight."

"We have archivists," Shirabu huffed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "Can't one of _them_ do it instead?"

"Didn't you hear?" Obata slid into the conversation uninvited, making Shirabu jump. He hadn't even known that she was in the break room as well—for such a loud person, she sure knew how to be sneaky. "They're making a ton of budget cuts to every department. A lot of our archivists were let go." Sympathetically, she patted his back. "Do you want me to help?"

Shirabu clenched his jaw, snatching up the papers. "I'm good."

"It's okay to ask for help, y'know."

"I said I'm _good_. Shoo."

"Way to disrespect your senpai's caring heart, kid!"

"Don't you have anything better to do? Like your job?"

Before Obata could retort, Smith's phone dinged, and the man's eyes lit up. Shirabu squawked as Smith snatched the former's finished coffee, chugged it in under three seconds, and popped a breath mint into his mouth.

"That was scalding hot!" spluttered Shirabu. "And—more _importantly_ —it was mine!"

"How do I look?" Smith bulldozed over his protests, running his fingers through his unruly, straw-like hair.

"Dashing," opined Obata. "But what's the occasion, Smith-san?"

He didn't need to answer. Because just moments later, an exasperated Secretary Jay emerged through the doors with a black-haired, pregnant woman hanging off his arm. "Ray-Ray!" she cheered, letting go of the poor secretary and running into Smith's open arms.

"Kimiko!"

Shirabu recoiled in disgust as the two gave each other greeting kisses. The Smiths—both Kimiko and Raymond—were probably the most horrible couple he had ever had the displeasure of witnessing make out.

"You _know_ you want to be him," Obata whispered unhelpfully, nudging him with one elbow.

"I do _not._ "

"But the rumor's true right?" she pressed, dropping her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "That you like older wo—"

"Oh, would you _look_ at the time," Shirabu said loudly, glancing at his bare wrist. "I'd better get started on these autopsy reports, huh?"

"You can't avoid me forever!" Obata called after him. If she said anything after that, he was too far away to hear.

Shirabu pushed the weirdness of his colleagues out of his head, focused instead on getting to the Archive Room so he could begin the task he had been given. Once he was inside, he closed the door behind him and sighed, stacking the papers aside and pulling out his phone. He had felt it vibrate when Smith had given Kimiko her seventh forehead kiss.

It was him who had asked her for help, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being scammed.

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** you'll never believe what i found haha

 **[Shirabu]:** What?

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** you were right, punk

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** the more i look into this case, the more suspicious it is

 **[Shirabu]:** what about the evidence? is there anything contradicting or sus?

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** no promises yet, but i'll keep you updated

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** I'm busy right now

 **[Shirabu]:** with drinking or actual police work?

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** You're funny. Have you seen this?

Shirabu stared skeptically at the link she forwarded.

 **[Shirabu]:** No, what is it?

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** go see for yourself, Shirababy ;) i think you might be interested. you've always liked morbid stuff like this

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** Probably the reason why you chose your job

His eye twitched. God, the woman was _insufferable_. _This better not be snuff porn._

 **[Annoying Arsonist]:** Just open it already, it's not snuff porn LOL

 _Is she some kind of mind-reader?!_ Lips pinching sourly, he decided to take a leap of faith and tapped on the link. It sent him to his Spacebook app, and he spent the next five minutes watching in stunned silence at the live stream that was unfolding before his very eyes. The police were _everywhere_. The press were no better—swarming all over the front of the apartment complex like wasps.

Plastered on the upper right corner of the video was Goshiki's face, a photo gleaned from his Shiratorizawa yearbook. Shirabu knew because he recognized the collar of the uniform. Knew because of the youth that lined his cheeks—baby fat that would've melted away by now to form a sculpted jaw.

Beneath the image was a caption: **TODAI SHOOTER OF DREAMING POKER HEIGHTS**

The papers fell to the ground in a promiscuous pile as Shirabu slammed the door of the Archive Room shut behind him.

"Where's Smith?!" bellowed Shirabu, bursting into the break room. Obata, a doughnut in one hand, jumped.

"He went out with Kimiko!" Obata adjusted her grip on her food. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I need to borrow his car."

"It's not here. I _told_ you, he went out with—ahhh!" Obata squeaked when Shirabu grabbed her by the shoulders, flabbergasted at the desperation filling his eyes. "Shirabu-san...?"

"Let me borrow your bike then!" Shirabu practically yelled into her face. He let her go then, scrambling to the door and down the corridor.

"Shirabu-san...?!" Obata's voice faded into the background as the blood roared around his ears, almost drowning out the sound of voice messages he had been ignoring for so long ringing in his head.

_"Shirabu, please. If you know where Goshiki is, call us."_

_"Hey, Kenjirou, do you know what happened to Goshiki after high school?"_

_"It's been a while since we've talked to Goshiki. I'm worried."_

_"You work in Tokyo now, right? I've heard that Goshiki could be in the city, too. Have you ever seen him?"_

_Why? Why didn't I care? Why didn't I listen?_

_Goshiki...!_ Fresh air pushed his hair back as he frantically biked down the street, dodging passers-by. A woman shrieked when he nearly rammed Obata's flowery front basket into her, circling around her plump frame at the last second.

_Please...!_

_Don't let me be too late._

* * *

Kindaichi licked his lips, his brow creased with anxiety. _Why isn't he moving?_ It felt like time had stopped, all of them waiting with bated breath what Goshiki would decide to do next. Carefully, he shifted his gaze to where Sakusa was flexing his wrists behind his back, almost out of his binds. Sakusa met his eyes briefly before turning away, his mask of neutrality still clinging firmly to his face.

"'Shiki," Kindaichi began, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the piercing stare Sakusa was giving him. "I _promise_ you that he's gonna get what he deserves." He held one shaking hand to his chest. "But please... This isn't right. Hurting innocent people... 'Shiki, that's not you. You can't let it _be_ you. Because, then, you're gonna start walking down the same road that _he_ ," he pointed at Shō, "chose." He swallowed thickly. "Please, 'Shiki. _Please_."

The silence that reigned in the following moments were long—drawn out. Kindaichi's heart started to race, his entire body tensing up when he felt Sunano squeeze his hand weakly. _She's not gonna last at this rate._

"Kindaichi..."

His head snapped upward. "Y-yeah, 'Shiki?"

Goshiki strapped his gun around his body, expression unreadable. "Don't follow me."

 _Huh?_ Bewildered, Kindaichi stood. "Where are you going?"

"Take the rest of the hostages," Goshiki ordered, showing no sign that he had even heard Kindaichi's question. "I don't care. I just need these two." His hands curled around the shirt collars of Sakusa and Shō. He dragged them to the elevator, pressing the button to send it down. As he waited, he glanced over his shoulder. "Go, Kindaichi. You're all free."

 _What... What do I do?_ Kindaichi froze. _He's vulnerable right now. He can't take off his gun that easily. Should I tackle him and hope for the best?_ Goshiki _couldn't_ kill Shō. Not without him being brought to his knees in front of justice's blade. He had hurt too many people.

But Sunano's breathing was growing shallower and shallower.

Kageyama was staring at him.

And Hinata and Shino...

 _The need me,_ he realized, even when regret tore at his heart as he watched the elevator doors close. He shook his head, resolve hardening. "Don't worry, you guys. I'll help you outta here."

The rope wasn't difficult to untie. He undid Hinata's first, then Kageyama's.

"Thanks," Kageyama let out a short sigh of relief before his mouth parted in a yawn. "Hinata—help me with Sunano-san."

Hinata nodded. "Right."

At this point, police and emergency service personnel had begun to enter the building, having witnessed and heard the entire exchange from Kindaichi's body-cam and mic. "All clear," Kindaichi heard the familiar baritone of Daichi rumble. "Kindaichi, good job."

 _It sure doesn't feel like it._ Kindaichi frowned at the particularly stubborn knot that bound Shino's wrists together. Momentarily, he peered up to see Sunano being hefted out of the car park on a stretcher by two female paramedics. "Sorry," he mumbled an apology to the blonde, returning back to his task. "Just gimme a sec..." He got it untied before an officer had to step in. "Are you okay?" Kindaichi held out a hand, making sure to divert his eyes away from her ripped sweater, which partially exposed her front. She took it, staggering to her feet and rubbing her sore wrists.

Her knees were trembling, but her voice was firm as she told him, "Go. Your friend needs you."

"I…" Kindaichi almost hugged her. "Alright. Thank you, and be safe!"

Shino was being helped away by Daichi when a hand palmed Kindaichi's shoulder. He whipped around, eyes widening when he saw Kageyama's stern mien.

"Kageyama...?"

"He told you not to follow him."

"I know," Kindaichi replied simply. "But I have to."

"You could just leave it up to the police."

"I know," he repeated. "But I don't know if I'll be able to live with myself if I do that."

Kageyama seemed to consider this. Then his hand slid off Kindaichi's shoulder, and he stepped back. "Fine. Go now, while the police aren't looking. But..." He paused. "Be careful... Kindaichi."

Kindaichi managed a crooked smile. "Yeah. I will."

Dreaming Poker Heights was a deteriorating mess of a seven storey building. Goshiki had taken the elevator—up to where he didn't know, but he had an inkling that sent terror shooting through his entire body.

He didn't want to wait.

He _couldn't_.

With Kageyama's blessing still fresh in his mind, Kindaichi gave the scene a quick once-over and then dashed for the door to the stairwell. His footsteps garnered attention, and he heard Daichi shout, "Kindaichi, wait!"

They were fast. But Kindaichi had always been taller and more athletic than most people, and he managed to keep a distance between them, even as his calves burned from the lack of exercise he had gotten in the past few months.

Voices floated up the stairwell.

"Everyone, stop!"

"Sawamura-san?"

"Not all of us should come stomping like this. It might scare Goshiki-san into doing something we'll all regret. The rest of you go back and wait for further instructions. I'll keep chasing him."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

 _Hah..._ Kindaichi stumbled to a halt on the fourth floor, no longer hearing the thundering footsteps of the police. Silently, he thanked Daichi, and took a deep breath to soothe his lungs before continuing.

He could only pray that he would not be too late.

* * *

The sun was beginning its descent and giving way to twilight when an unmarked vehicle slowed to a stop on the opposite side of the street, several black-clad men getting out as soon as it was parked.

Superintendent Keishi, who had been watching Sunano be carried into the ambulance by Mika and Eri, glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the Chief Prosecutor be surrounded by his bodyguards. The crowd of public and press alike parted as Midorima Shintaro and his men walked through, a particularly beefy man whose muscles rippled through his suit lifting the police tape up and over their heads.

Immediately, Keishi saluted Midorima, pretending that the green-haired man wasn't holding a white toy boat in one hand. "Chief Prosecutor."

Midorima nodded. "Superintendent. Tell me..." His sharp eyes gleaming beneath his glasses, he tilted his head up to peer at the roof of the building. "Everything that's going on."

"Well..." Keishi hesitated, then nodded to Chigusa, who turned his computer slightly to show Midorima the live video feed from Kindaichi's body-cam. The frame shook as he ran up the stairs, only stopping once to catch his breath. He could hear the sound of Daichi calling off the other officers and choosing to pursue Kindaichi on his own. "Four of the hostages were released. Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou, Iwasaki Shino, and Sunano Rie." The superintendent pointed at each of them as he spoke their names. Hinata and Kageyama were sitting in the back section of an ambulance, while Shino was seated in another ambulance. She had been given a brown blanket and a cup of hot cocoa to calm her nerves. Her shirt had been torn during the incident, and a police officer was in the middle of offering her his jacket.

"Strange," remarked Midorima. "I only see three."

"Ah." Sergeant Chigusa, who had had his eyes glued to the feed, peered up momentarily. "Sunano Rie-san is being taken to hospital right now—she suffered a heart attack."

"Hmph. I see." Midorima leaned in closer. "And who's that on the field?"

"A civilian, sir," Keishi informed him, rather regretfully. "The shooter demanded that he replace our usual negotiator, Waka-san."

"You let a civilian into a danger zone?"

Keishi lowered his gaze. "We had no choice."

Midorima clicked his tongue. "Fool of me to assume that Sakusa would be out of the picture..."

"We must have faith," decided Keishi, a bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he frowned at Chigusa's screen. "Right now, everything is in the hands of a civilian and an inspector."

A hum. "Deploy more men."

"What? Sir, with all due respect, that—"

"At my order," Midorima talked over him, "You will deploy more men into the field. For now, we'll wait. But the moment the opportunity comes... We'll storm the building and shoot to _kill_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There is quite of a lack of Sakusa POV in this chapter (and the previous), so next chapter will feature him :)
> 
> Note: Midorima, who often consults Oha-Asa, has a toy boat because the lucky item and colour of May 8th 2018 was 'boat' and 'white'.
> 
> Hinata backstory WILL be explored more... But not from his perspective. You'll see. Kinda.
> 
> Also, Oct 12th was the_blue_dandelion's birthday!! Happy belated birthday, you're 18 now and here's your late birthday present, whoops. Please go read her fic [Sacred Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26892241/chapters/65618566), here it's her first published story on AO3!
> 
> Thank you all for the hits, kudos, comments, and bookmarks! It makes me giddy to think that people are reading (and even enjoying, my god) this. I'm currently 18 (going on 19 next January), so I'm still a spring chicken and there are so many more things I wanna write for HQ!


	31. The Tale of Him (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry, guys, I'm a liar. I said we would get Sakusa POV, but this is like all Shō, I'm so sorry. Sakusa POV will happen soon, I promise, I already have most of it written out, I just realized that I organized some things wrong.
> 
> Deepest apologies, I'm giving you a little of baby Sakusa instead.
> 
> Warning, though: mentioned child sexual abuse, rape, and abortion. The relationship portrayed here is also kinda weird (scratch that, super weird), so read with caution.

**June 10th, 2007**

Wisps of smoke curled in the air as Shō's nostrils flared, the smell of incense permeating the room. Bent at the waist, he could imagine—vividly—ashes settling within the delicate creases of his lungs. After placing his joss stick in the pot, he straightened, the angry folds of his inky black suit smoothening with the motion. Stony-faced, Shō returned to his seat, the empty eyes of his wife's family members following his stiff, sloth-like movement.

It was a small, pathetic event. Three caskets displayed at the front of the hall, but less than fifteen guests. Few of his own relatives had bothered to attend, leaving the space to be filled with mostly his wife's.

A sutra, chanted by the priest, rang in his ears.

One of his wife's sisters glanced at him appraisingly. "You must be grieving terribly."

She could not hide her resentment for him. The tension eased out of his shoulders—there was little he could do to change her opinion. "We all are," Shō replied.

Bitterly, the woman turned her gaze down and glared at her feet. "Miyako… She deserved better. And," her throat bobbed, "Her children… _Your_ children…"

"I know."

"And yet, you are still here. Walking among us without a single scratch or bruise. How unfair."

"You'd prefer me dead?"

She did not answer.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, they gathered, weeping softly, around the three caskets. His family looked so peaceful, Shō thought, with their pale faces and their wispy hair. Some relatives placed flowers in the caskets, especially for Miyako, until it seemed that she had drowned in a sea of petals. By the time most of them had dispersed, the only visible part of her left was her round, waxy face.

Eventually, he exited, too, and began to follow her closest family members for the cremation ceremony.

Then, he paused.

Heads turned.

Miyako's sister—her name was Kira—asked, "You're not coming?"

Shō hesitated. "No. I'll leave it to you to lay them to rest."

"Of course… You must be still in shock." She looked pleased at his decided absence.

He merely smiled, lifting a hand to farewell them. They disappeared around the corner, other guests streaming around him to get to their cars in a wave of black clothing. "Ah," Shō muttered, passing one hand through his hair—jet black streaked with grey. "I need a smoke…"

He found a place by the koi pond. The water was clear, fish mouths opening and closing as they pointed their orange and white heads toward the surface. He took a seat at a wooden bench. Smoke emerged from between his lips, and he felt the headache he had been nursing all afternoon finally ebbing away.

A gentle footfall reached his ears. Shō turned.

And there she stood—a girl of seventeen. The cigarette fell from his mouth. How cruel, it was, for her to resemble his own daughter so much. Her hair was held up in a conservative bun, and her lips pressed in a thin line. She wore a black dress, which she tucked the skirt beneath her thighs as she took a seat beside him.

"Please," she said without preamble. "Don't send me away."

Shō nodded. He reached into his blazer pocket for his cigarette carton, then reconsidered. Instead, he let his hand rest on his leg. "Who are you missing today?"

The girl tilted her chin skyward. "My mother."

"I see." He peered at her carefully. "You don't seem upset."

"Neither do you, sir."

"Yes. I suppose so. How worthless I am."

"Worthless?" she echoed.

"For years," Shō told her, "I have provided for them. I have fed them, bled for them, and held them closely. But what is the use of it all when—in the end—I cannot cry for them?"

"But when it mattered," she answered, "You were there for them. You are far more a competent father than mine is."

"And is there reason for that?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched. "I won't say."

Shō released a tired chuckle. "I understand. What about you, then? What's _your_ name?"

"Hirakawa. Hirakawa Noriko."

He mulled over the name in his head. "The conglomerate Hirakawa?"

Noriko nodded. "The one and the same. And you, sir, what's your name?"

"It's not as important as yours," he warned her, as if it were important to provide a disclaimer. "It's Shō Shinya."

"Shō Shinya," she spoke his name in the same way one would try a new flavor of food, "Have you heard of Harry Harlow's experiments with monkeys?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"Ah, well. If I were an infant ape, my mother would have been a cloth." Noriko leaned against the back of the bench. "But to put it simply, the results showed the importance of human contact and intimacy. If you have fed them, bled for them, and held them closely during their lives, then… There is little else you need to feel sorry for. Love can't be quantified by the amount of tears you shed for them."

Shō gave into temptation. He fished his carton of cigarettes from his pocket and lit a new one for himself. "What am I now, then, except an old man?"

"I can't answer that for you."

The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled. "I thought as much… Although, I'm certain your mother was more than a cloth."

Noriko shrugged. "My father was rather fond of calling her a 'clunge with the ability to speak and nothing more'."

Shō narrowed his eyes. "How crude."

"He's always been like that. There is no changing him." She exhaled sharply, her lashes fluttering as she peeked at him from under them. "I'm curious about something, though—You look at me as though you've seen a ghost."

"You look just like her. My daughter, that is."

"How unfortunate," she whispered. "That she is no longer here."

"She is with my wife, and my son. Ahh… My son... What a shame.

"What a shame," said Shō, his voice not sounding like his own. "Osamu was such a wonderful name."

Noriko dropped her gaze. "What a shame indeed."

For a while, they simply sat in a comfortable silence. From the peripheral, Shō eyed her. The more he looked at her, the more like _her_ she became. He tapped on his cigarette, ash falling to the grass. _Nanami..._

"So," Noriko said abruptly. "How... How did you lose them? If..." She lowered her gaze. "It's okay to ask."

"It was Miyako's birthday," Shō said, lightly. "My wife. She always loved the ocean. But we don't live anywhere near the coast, so..." He took a puff. "We settled for the aquarium. Osamu, he..." A chuckle. "He was especially excited. He had finished all his homework for the afternoon. So we went for a drive down to the aquarium, and..."

His fingers were shaking.

He hadn't noticed.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he would _smell_ it. Motor oil and fire. Hear the screech of twisted metal, and taste ashes on his tongue. The ashen, terrified faces of his family as they peered at him through cracked windows—the last time he would ever see them before flames engulfed the wreck. They'd died with charred skin and smoke in their lungs.

And the wretches that had killed them—the wretches that had caused the entire accident—

_They deserve to live in misery for the rest of their worthless lives!_

"What about your mother?" asked Shō, ignoring her questioning look. "What was her name? And how did you lose her?"

"Ah..." Noriko grew even more quiet than before. For someone who had spoke so callously of her mother earlier, it was unusual. "My mother... She was a battered woman. She did everything to protect us... Heh..." She faced forward, unable to look him in the eye. "My mother's name was Miyazawa Meisa. She was very ill, but it was my father who beat her to death."

 _Daizen?_ Shō had seen his face on magazines. Strong jaw, fierce eyes and smiling. He was always smiling in the photos. For a moment, he wondered—wondered what kind of expression Daizen put on at home. When he was beating his wife and—

"Did he ever do anything to you?"

"I had an abortion last year. It was his."

Shō swore.

_And raping his daughter._

"The police," Shō said, tersely. "You _need_ to report him to the police."

"I can't." Noriko kept staring at the ground. "You think I wouldn't have by now if I could? I wasn't even supposed to tell you this! If I do, then she'll—!" She sucked in a breath. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get emotional."

He shrugged, sensing it was for the best for the matter to be left alone. "It's a funeral. You're allowed to be emotional."

She opened her mouth to say something, but another voice—this one male—called in the distance.

"Noriko! Noriko, where are you?"

Shō flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and stamped on it with his shoe. "Sounds like your friends are searching for you."

She shook her head. "I don't have any friends."

The bushes rustled, then a green-haired teenager around Noriko's age appeared, followed by a raven-haired child.

"I _told_ you she would be here," the child said, scathingly. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and was petulantly looking away from where Noriko and Shō were sitting. "You could've taken the path, Shintaro."

"Kiyoomi's right." Noriko chuckled quietly, leaning away from his concerned touch. She lifted a hand to pick a leaf from Midorima's hair. "You're all messy now."

"As much as I'd _love_ to see this continue," Sakusa deadpanned, crossing his arms. "Our dads are gonna be worried if we don't go back soon."

"Seem like friends to me," Shō remarked, instinctively reaching for another cigarette before stopping himself. Midorima and Noriko may have been teenagers, but Sakusa was still a kid. Eleven or twelve—thirteen at most.

"It's complicated."

"Noriko," Midorima intertwined his fingers with hers, leading her away, "Come on, we're leaving. Your uncle's asking for you."

"This time, we're taking the _path_ ," interjected Sakusa.

"Already? Alright." Noriko turned back to peer at Shō. "Sir... Who crashed into you? Give me their family name."

 _Smart girl._ He hadn't even mentioned the accident, but she had caught the implication. "Hinata. A family of gingers."

"Hinata... I'll remember that."

Shō did not think he would ever see her again. But he was mesmerized with her form, the way her black dress rippled at her ankles as she walked, arm-in-arm with Midorima. She was taller than his daughter had been, and her face was sharper, but...

If he closed his eyes, Nanami smiled at him.

Sakusa turned back.

For a long moment, Shō simply met his gaze without word. There was something about the child that had the hairs on the back of his neck rising—maybe it was the distrust in his wily eyes, or the way he slouched—like a cobra poised to strike—as he regarded Shō.

"Kiyoomi!" Midorima called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Sakusa replied, whipping back around without a goodbye.

They were an odd crowd, the three of them. Or maybe it was just Sakusa. Maybe it was just the way that he had been blatantly shut out by the older teens, a space as wide as Shō between Sakusa and Midorima. But Shō knew better than to mess with rich and powerful families.

It would never end well.

* * *

He was at his car, having one more smoke before he headed to the restaurant, when the screaming started.

"You!" Miyako's sister howled, pointing a finger at a young brunette with a haggard face. She was wearing a simple cardigan and a black dress that was slightly discolored at the hem. "How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you come here!" Kira snarled, pulling back a hand to slap the dowdy lady.

"Kira, no!"

Shō watched, worn and weary, as Kira was held back by multiple men and women, still screaming. She thrashed against them, tears streaming down her face—she _wailed_. Shaking, she prostrated at her feet, her brown hair spilling forward.

"I'm so sorry," the woman cried, her shoulders wracking as she sobbed. Arms still shaking, she held out a nondescript packet. "I know this will never make it up to you, but—"

"I don't want your useless money!" Kira finally got loose, grabbing the other woman by the hair and shoving her to the ground. Her foot descended on the packet, using the sole of her shoe to grind it into the gravel. "Out! Get out! Get out of my sight, you filthy wretch! My sister is dead! Dead because of you! Your husband's carelessness! Even if you killed yourself right now, it wouldn't bring her back!"

 _Hinata Mikuru._ The wife of the man who had killed them. Miyako. Nanami. Osamu.

"I heard about your husband," Kira added cruelly, a grin like a sword-slash gracing her shrew-like features. "He'll never walk again, will he? And your son, Shouyou! His legs were snapped beyond repair! They're discussing amputation, aren't they? Aren't they?!"

"Please," Mikuru whispered, starting to stand. "Please don't say that—"

"They deserve it! You all deserve it! And don't you ever, _ever_ forget...!" Kira palmed her chest, bottom lip trembling. "That while your family still lives, mine is dead! My only sister, my niece, and my nephew...! They're nothing but ashes and memories now, and it's all your _fucking_ fault! They were _parked_. _Parked!_ "

"Kira," one of Miyako's brothers said, tentatively placing an arm on her shoulder. "That's enough now. We've all suffered."

"I don't care!" Kira yanked herself away from him. "They should suffer more! It's only justice that they do!" Wildly, she spun, searching. Then she locked eyes with Shō. "Why are you just _standing_ there? Don't... Don't you care about your family?"

It was a knife to the chest. Shō flinched at the sudden demand. "Of course I do," he snapped. "But making a scene isn't going to bring them back."

"Don't you hate them?"

He didn't answer her question. "Kira-san. Don't dishonor their memory even further."

"Tch!" Kira looked away. "They were too good for you."

_I know. They were. And I loved them so much._

Footsteps. Many.

Shō's gaze slid to the left. A sizable crowd—all dressed in black—were emerging from the nearby funeral hall and dispersing in the car park. The lights of the hearses and the limousines in the lot lit up as they got their keys out. Their wealth was practically spilling out from their pockets. From where he was standing, he could see Midorima with his arm around Noriko, Sakusa dragging his feet behind them. The younger teen was exchanging some tense words with a woman who could only be his mother.

Miraculously, Kira had quietened beside them, and was also observing the other group of funeral-goers say their farewells to one another.

Some of them were recognizable. Market-leading businessmen, members of parliament, and big-shot lawyers. Hirakawa Daizen. Midorima Mahiro. Sakusa Junji. The three men were leading the pack, speaking too quietly to be heard.

"Kazuhito!" Daizen suddenly bellowed, peering over his shoulder. "Will you be joining us for dinner?"

An older man that had been standing next to Noriko—someone Shō hadn't noticed before—lifted a hand in apology. "I'm afraid you'll have to eat without me. There are things I must tend to."

"Really? But your sister has just died. You can examine bodies another time."

Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito smiled thinly. "As I said, there are things I must tend to."

"Hmph. Suit yourself then."

Noriko tugged on Miyazawa's sleeve. "But, uncle..." Whatever she said next was lost in the wind.

"Ahem, well," Miyako's oldest brother cleared his throat, drawing Shō's attention back to his own relatives, "We should get going, too. Hinata-san..." He glanced at where Mikuru was standing, shaken. "I think it's best if we don't ever meet again."

Mikuru stared at the ground. "Yes. I think so, too."

"I hope your son recovers well."

"Thank you, sir."

Kira scoffed, but didn't say anything further.

Hands in his pockets and cigarette almost done, Shō stood, leaning against his car, as the rest of Miyako's family got into their cars and drove off. His own direct family—the ones that had bothered to attend, anyway—said their goodbyes to him before leaving as well. Soon, it was just him.

The cigarette fell to the damp ground, and he squashed it on his way to the driver's side of his car.

Insurance had covered for the repairs.

But it would never bring them back.

Nothing would.

He didn't know how long he drove for, but—eventually—evening gathered and he stopped in front of a ramen bar on the outskirts of Aoba Ward. There were only five stools, and one of them was occupied. Locking his car, Shō took a seat at the bar, eyeing the selection of wines displayed on the back shelf. The chef, a pudgy man, glanced at him as he stirred his pot of soup. "Welcome."

"Any recommendations?" asked Shō, taking a look at the menu. It was a laminated A4 page with only a few options. When he turned it around, he found a drinks menu.

The chef snorted. "Recommendations? You sound like you're used to fancy banquet halls, sir." He gave him an appraising look. "You look the part, too. Coming from a wedding?"

"No. A funeral."

A pause. "Ah. I'm sorry for your loss. Tell you what," the chef dipped his ladle in the boiling pot again, "On the house."

"What?!" the other customer squawked, abruptly. "You wouldn't even give me a free drink when my grandmother died last month!"

"That's because the first thing you said to me that day was 'I'm glad that old bag is dead', idiot," the chef shot back.

"I was drunk!"

"Then why would you need to drink again?"

Shō tuned them out, only checking back into reality once more when the chef placed a bottle of sake and a clean saucer onto the table. Wordlessly, he popped the bottle open and started pouring. The alcohol burned the back of his throat, but he barely twitched. The swirling of the chef's ladle was hypnotic, and he found himself growing sleepier and sleepier the more he drank.

Finally, his ramen was done.

A steaming hot bowl of noodle soup was set down in front him. It was oily, almost to the point of being inedible, but Shō just cracked his takeaway chopsticks in half and dipped his plastic soup spoon into the broth. It warmed his insides.

"Our special," the chef told him. "Well— _my_ special."

"It's good," Shō replied, monotonously.

He left him alone after that. The other customer chugged a whole bottle of sake before staggering off and hailing a taxi, leaving just the chef and Shō to be each other's company in silence. Shō was taking out his wallet the next time the chef spoke to him.

"Oh, no, you don't. I said it was on the house."

Shō left one thousand yen on the counter. "Consider it a tip, then."

Grumbling something under his breath, the chef snatched the money and turned his back to him. Shō was about to fold his wallet when he stopped. In a transparent flap, there was a picture of Nanami at her high school graduation. She was beaming into the camera, clutching a bouquet of flowers to her chest. Behind her, he saw himself with his hand on Namami's shoulder, Miyako's hand on the other. Osamu stood to the left of his sister, his cell phone sticking out of his pocket.

_"How worthless I am."_

_"Worthless?"_

_"For years, I have provided for them. I have fed them, bled for them, and held them closely. But what is the use of it all when—in the end—I cannot cry for them?"_

_"But when it mattered, you were there for them."_

Covering his face with his hand, Shō wept.

* * *

**September 29th, 2007**

He was moving boxes out of his house when he encountered her again. Autumn had begun, and Hirakawa Noriko was standing in his front yard, wearing a floral dress, white sunglasses, and a hat with a large ribbon on it.

Shō felt strangely under-dressed, then, in his ragged jeans and grey-stained white tee.

"Hirakawa-san," Shō greeted her, dipping his head.

"Hello, Shō-san," Noriko replied. "You can call me by my first name, if you'd like."

He walked down the path, stopping in front of her. "Why are you here? How did you find me?"

Noriko smirked slightly, taking off her sunglasses to reveal alluring amber eyes. "Let's just call it connections." She took something out of her purse and handed it to him—it was a piece of folded paper.

Curious, he unfolded it, smoothing out the creases. "This is..."

**NOTICE OF TERMINATION: HINATA NOBOATSU**

"I told you I'd remember his name," Noriko's voice sounded, making him look up. "It turned out he worked for my father's company, HNN Foundation."

 _And she got him fired? Just like that?_ He stared at the paper in disbelief.

"He's wheelchair-bound anyway," she continued, as if sensing his thoughts, "It was going to happen eventually. You can't work in construction without your legs. The only difference is that we starved him of his final payout."

"Their family..."

"Is going to tear apart at the seams. The stress of poverty won't spare them."

Shō clutched the paper tightly. "Why would you do this?"

"Isn't this what you want?" she said, softly. "Don't you think they deserve it? It might have been an accident, but those don't come without consequences. And this is one of them. It is simply _justice_."

"Let me reword: Why do you care what _I_ want?"

At this, Noriko pursed her lips, seemingly considering the question. Then she answered, "You were the first person I told about... what my father did. What he does. I'm not sure why it happened—maybe it was because you were a stranger who had faced tragedy. You said... that I looked like her. Your daughter." Averting her eyes, she held her hand to her chest, fiddling with her necklace. "I don't have a father. Only a monster at home. Maybe I'm here because... I wish I could've had a father like you. She was lucky to have you."

For a while, Shō just stared at the girl. If he stared long enough, Nanami would appear right before his eyes. _My dear daughter..._

Noriko broke the silence, scanning her surroundings. "You're moving."

"Yes," he affirmed. "I am."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I'm not sure, but I know I can't stay here. I think I'll go somewhere far away, like Osaka or Kobe."

Her hand suddenly shot out, gripping his wrist. "Wait! I... You don't have to leave."

"This place has nothing but memories," Shō stated. "It's too big for one person."

She straightened. "I'll be blunt. I've done a background check on you. I know who you are. You're a director without any agency at the moment. You've produced some award-winning shows in the past, but... You took a break."

He narrowed his eyes. "To raise my family."

"I can give you _everything_ ," Noriko whispered, the sound almost harsh. "I can help you start a new life. A career. A _family_ , even. All I ask in return is a father."

Shō considered this.

Then he stood aside.

"Why don't you come inside?"

* * *

**June 28th, 2008**

Miya Akari was a beautiful woman, but Shō was not blind. He could see the edges of a bruise beneath her eye, hastily covered with make-up. But his thoughts did not linger on the possible origins of the wound. Instead, he smiled, bowing politely to her and her twin sons. "Ah! You must be Miya Akari-san!"

Akari returned the gesture, a wide grin on her face as she introduced her sons to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Director Shō. These are my boys—Osamu," she nudged one boy forward, and Shō felt his heart twist, "and Atsumu."

_Osamu..._

What had Osamu been like? _His_ Osamu? He had enjoyed video games, and fishing, and playing tennis with his friends. Friends Shō had not seen since they'd died. And now, in front of him, stood a young boy bearing the same name as the son he had once tucked into bed. They looked nothing alike, not in the way Nanami and Noriko did, but it didn't matter.

"Twins!" Shō said, trying to sound invested in the both of them. In truth, only Osamu had caught his eye. "How interesting."

"They're my pride and joy. And I believe they'll be excellent picks for your next show."

"Yes, I..." His phone began to buzz in the breast pocket of his shirt, and he glanced down. "Sorry—I'll be with you in a moment. My assistant, Takagi-san, will show you to the audition waiting room..." Without waiting for a response, he vacated the lobby, turning around a corner before answering. "Hello? Chen?"

_"It's me."_

Shō blinked. "Noriko?" He hadn't been expecting a call from her. "Noriko, dear, what's wrong?"

_"I'm to be married."_

His heart plunged. _Married? My daughter... is betrothed?_ "Please," he begged, "Please tell me you're joking. This isn't the Edo Period. You've just graduated high school."

_"I know. Maybe if I'd been born into an ordinary family, this wouldn't happen, but..."_

"What about your law degree?"

_"My father has pull with the university. I'll get it even if I fail all my classes. But I won't let it come to that. Because I never fail."_

In the background, Shō could hear Takagi leading Akari and her sons down a separate hallway. He bit down on the edge of his thumbnail, frustration coursing through him. "Is there any way you can escape this?"

_"No. It's something... I must see through. It isn't all bad, though. My childhood friend, Midorima Shintaro... He's going to be my husband. I know he loves me, but..."_

"You don't love him," Shō finished.

 _"Not in the same way, no. But,"_ he could hear her choke back tears, _"he was elated when he found out about the agreement between our fathers. He proposed immediately. Nobody is supposed to know outside of our families, but... You_ are _my family, dad. Did you know,"_ she let out a watery chuckle, _"that Shintaro's friend, Kiyoomi, threw a huge fit when he found out? Shintaro was furious, especially at the things he said to me. But the funny thing is... I actually agreed with him. Shintaro and I don't suit each other at all."_

There were so many things he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to ask. But he settled for: "Will he treat you well?"

_"He will. I know he will."_

"Then that's all I can ask of him." Of the boy who he had never met formally, the boy who would be walking his daughter down the aisle in a glorious wedding he wouldn't even be able to attend.

 _"Dad..."_ Noriko hesitated. _"I love you."_

She hung up.

_Noriko... I'll give to you a brother._

_I promise._

* * *

**July — September, 2008**

"It's obvious. They're lesbians."

Smoke escaped from the end of Chen's cigarette. Thoughtfully, Shō chewed on the end of his own cigarette. "I thought the same."

"So?" demanded Chen. "What's the next step? Those bitches should be punished—"

"Hold on, Jianhong."

Shō knew what they were going to do. Takagi and Kageyama... _They're trying to ruin me._ His cigarette crumpled slightly beneath his grip. _They're trying to take away the family I've built._ The family that he and Noriko had started together—father and daughter searching for a mother and wife and a brother and son. The career that Noriko had helped him rebuild after devastating heartbreak.

_I can't lose this, or else I'll lose her. I'll lose everything I've worked for._

"Hold on what? You can't possibly think that it's acceptable—"

"Of course not." Ashes fell from the end of his cancer stick. "But I must tread carefully. Instead of direct punishment... I'm going to use this to my advantage. Think of it as having a king while they hold a jack." He blew out a cloud of smoke. "I know Takagi. She will crack. With a simple push..." He flicked his cigarette to the floor and stepped on it. "She will fall apart."

Chen raised a brow. "If you say so. Hey—can a bum another smoke off you?"

Shō obliged.

* * *

**January, 2009**

It was a chilly winter. Christmas and New Year's had passed uneventfully. The front yard of the Miya's house was covered in layers of snow. He watched through the windscreen as the figures of Miya Akari and Miya Osamu crossed the garden. When they were close enough, Shō got out of his car and helped them put their luggage in the boot. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon.

"It's good to see you," Akari breathed.

"I'm glad you made the right choice," Shō answered, palming her shoulder briefly. "We'll be staying at my place and flying to Tokyo tonight."

"That's perfect. Thank you, Shō-san."

"Please, call me Shinya. We'll be working very closely together from now on. Right, Osamu-kun?" he added, shifting his gaze to the young teenager.

Osamu didn't answer.

Akari nudged him, hissing, "He asked you a question."

"Yeah," Osamu said, woodenly. "I guess we will."

They all piled into the car, Akari taking the front passenger seat and Osamu sitting in the seat behind her. Throughout the journey, Akari made hearty conversation. Truly, Shō was quite impressed at how good of a conversationalist she was. It was like seeing a woman who had been told over and over her voice didn't matter finally get to let loose all the intelligent thoughts she had been having.

Shō thought he would warm up to her very soon.

And Osamu...

He peered at the rear-view mirror.

Silently, without a single peep, Osamu was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know an OC-centric chapter (no matter how necessary) may not be preferred for a lot of you, so I tried to alleviate this a little by putting... multiple clues/mini-reveals.
> 
> This was originally going to be one part, but it would flow better if I split it.
> 
> Comments and discussion are much appreciated!!


	32. The Tale of Him (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of the killer comes to a close.

**October 5th, 2009**

Their life was peaceful. _His_ life was peaceful. He could feel the lovely tedium settling like a fine dust upon his soul as he watched his family move about in the house—as Osamu studied his cookbook and as Akari did the laundry with the help of the housemaid, Miu.

Every day, Shō worked his fingers to the bone to secure deals for Osamu. But it was something he did not mind—he would do anything for his son.

When Osamu's birthday rolled around on the fifth of October, a huge celebration was held at his condominium. Champagne glasses were lifted in the air in toast after toast, Osamu halfheartedly joining in with his glass of virgin apple cider.

"Congratulations, kid!" Chen grinned. "Soon, you're gonna be old enough to do a whole lotta things."

Osamu chuckled. "I'm fourteen, y'know. Not a lotta stuff I can do at this age."

"Regardless," Shō said. "A celebration is well-deserved. We've all been working hard, Osamu-kun, especially you. And I'm pleased to say that it's finally paying off. You'll be appearing on my new show, as well as an advertisement for children's soda."

"Did you hear that?" Akari excitedly tapped her son's shoulder, almost spilling her champagne. "You're climbing up the ladder!"

"Yep." Osamu didn't sound too enthused, but Shō was sure his mind would be changed soon enough. This was going to be his life now, and he just had to accept it.

"Smile, kid," Chen encouraged. "It's a party, after all."

Shō spent most of the night mingling with party guests. There were fifteen people he had invited over on behalf of Osamu. Most of them were staff members he was close to or trusted, and a couple were Osamu's classmates from his new school in Tokyo—Mori Junior High.

Nearby, he could see and hear Osamu making stilted conversation with another boy his age. His features were decidedly bird-like, and if his memory served him correctly, the boy's name was Akaashi Keiji.

"You know," Akaashi said, slowly. "When you said party, I didn't think it would be..." He gestured around the room. "All this."

Osamu took a sip of his cider. "Yeah, well... I didn't exactly decide for this to happen..."

"Why invite me, anyway? We're not that close."

"Like I said, I didn't make the decisions. Besides, who else could be invited that wouldn't totally freak out?"

Akaashi seemed to accept this, and Shō turned away. He had long suspected that Osamu—despite his popularity—didn't have any real friends at school, and the conversation all but confirmed it. But that was fine. Osamu could still be beloved and admired without close companions, and he didn't complain about it either.

"Shinya..." Akari appeared beside him, their shoulders bumping. "Thank you. For everything."

"I've hardly done anything," Shō replied, modestly. "Your son has made things easier for me by working so hard. He's a natural talent—he'll bloom in this industry." His gaze shifted to her. "Just like his mother, hm?"

She flushed. "Oh, you don't mean that, surely. I'm just a washed-up old lady now..."

"Nonsense. You're beautiful, Akari."

Akari took a deep breath. "Even with my scars?"

"Akari," he said seriously. "You're _beautiful_."

A small smile curved her lips upward.

The party ended at around midnight. By one o'clock, the last guest, Chen, was leaving, and Miu was tidying up the balcony. Akari was in the shower, washing off sweat and the scent of alcohol on her body, and Osamu was in his room. What he was doing, Shō did not know. After ordering Miu to clean the inside as well, he knocked on Osamu's door.

"Osamu-kun?" he called gently. "Can I come in?"

There was a thud.

Then Osamu answered, "Yeah."

Shō opened the door, finding Osamu—freshly showered—laying on the covers like a starfish. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"Mmhm."

"What did you talk about with your friends?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his added weight.

"I only really talked ta Akaashi," Osamu said honestly. "He was okay, I guess. We didn't really have much ta talk about."

It had been months since he and Akari had moved in with Shō, but the boy's walls were impenetrable. He kept everybody at an arm's length, even his own mother. Shō sighed. It was troublesome. "Osamu-kun, I want you to know that you can tell me anything you want me to. I'll never judge you."

Osamu nodded. "I know." He yawned, and Shō was not entirely sure if it was genuine. "I'm gettin' pretty sleepy now. Goodnight... Shō-san." The boy crawled beneath the covers, an arm sticking out to turn the lamp on his bedside table off. The room darkened.

It was too early for 'dad', Shō supposed. He wasn't like Noriko, who had come to him willingly. Shō would just have to give him time. "Goodnight," he murmured, pulling the covers so that it covered Osamu's shoulder. _Sleep tight, Osamu._

He fell asleep faster than Shō expected, if his quiet snoring was any indication. Carefully, he stood, the bed frame creaking slightly. As he was about to leave, he noticed Osamu's phone haphazardly thrown onto his study table. _That must have been the sound from earlier._ But why would Osamu have chucked his phone? Was he hiding something? Intrigued, Shō picked it up and turned it on. It required a five-digit pass code, one he cracked in a matter of moments.

 _51095\. Osamu's birthday._ It was too predictable, really.

There was only one app running in the background. Voice memo.

And the most recent recording had been finished just some ten minutes ago, probably seconds before Shō had entered.

Putting the volume on the lowest it would go without muting, he pressed play and held the speaker to his ear.

Osamu's voice crackled to life. _"Hey... 'Tsumu. It's that time of year again. Did... Did you get any presents this year? Ah, fuck... That's probably a dumb question, huh? Um... This is gonna sound like a huge brag, but I swear it ain't. I got a lotta presents this year. Like, a shit ton. I don't even know what ta do with 'em. I think I'll give 'em all away. Or sell 'em. It's weird, but... The stuff we used to get each other for our birthday, even all the dumb and shitty stuff... I miss that. I miss_ you _, 'Tsumu. Even if you were a fuckin' bastard to me the last time we talked. I'm still mad, by the way. But... I miss ya, okay? I just do. I think I'm gonna delete this later. Bye."_

Wordlessly, Shō put the phone back in its original position and left the room.

* * *

**June 1st, 2011**

The wedding was tomorrow.

Noriko would be wedded two years before she would graduate from university. A hen's night was forbidden, and she spent the night before her wedding in a luxurious hotel room with a single female friend that she had been allowed to choose as her maid of honor.

Shō received her video call at nine o'clock in the evening, in his study. He accepted, and Noriko's face appeared on his computer screen. She seemed to be laying belly-down on her bed.

She smiled tentatively. _"Hey, Shō-san."_

Her friend must have been with her for her to be so formal.

 _"Noriko-san! Is this the friend you were talking about before?"_ the muffled voice of another woman sounded in the background. Then a woman with red head appeared, nudging Noriko aside so that they were both in the frame. _"Hello, sir! It's nice to meet you. My name's Obata Kazue."_

"It's nice to meet you, too, Obata-san," Shō replied warmly. "How is Noriko-san doing?"

 _"We had a blast today,"_ Obata assured him. _"We went shopping, and we tried out a bunch of restaurants and cafes in Roppongi Hills! Honestly, it was super intimidating... I felt like a total peasant, but all in all, it was a great time!"_ She squeezed Noriko into a side-hug. _"I can't believe Karasuno's stuck-up school prez is getting married tomorrow..."_ The woman sighed wistfully, pressing her cheek against Noriko's shoulder. _"Time just flies, huh?"_

 _"It sure does,"_ Noriko mumbled. _"Just yesterday, you were still learning how to tie your shoelaces."_

_"You'll never let that go, will you?"_

_"You were a first year in high school and you couldn't do such a simple task. Of course I won't."_

_"Wahh! Noriko-san, so mean!"_ Obata whined. _"I'm gonna order room service and pig out, and if I can't fit into my dress tomorrow, I'm blaming you."_

 _"Whatever."_ As Obata disappeared out of frame, presumably to eat her weight's worth of food, Noriko cleared her throat. _"So... It's finally here."_

"It's finally here," Shō repeated. "Are you going to be okay?"

She chewed on her lip. _"I... I'm not sure. I think so. But I can never tell with myself."_

"I understand."

 _"I'm not sure what exactly I'm against,"_ Noriko continued, quietly so Obata wouldn't hear. _"I know my husband will love me, and that my father-in-law is a fair and impartial man... But I've never felt so worthless and helpless before. Not even when..."_ She swallowed. _"Maybe it's because I'm being forced into marriage with someone who I do not love. I will be honest—I'm not used to getting what I want in life. However, I think... a small part of me hoped... that I could finally be free one day. That there would be a light at the end of this tunnel. And when I met you, it seemed to shine brighter than ever. But now... I don't think there's an end to this. I'm going to be trapped forever, and there's nothing I can do about it. Even if I killed myself, I'd be the villain in the story. Because if I die by my own hand, I don't think my father will spare her."_

A small tear rolled down her cheek, and he instinctively reached out to brush it away, the pad of his thumb swiping against his computer screen. "You know, if I could... I'd rid of him for you."

_"You'd... kill him?"_

Shō nodded. "If an opportunity arose for me to do so... Yes."

_"Dad, please don't. You'll ruin your own life if you do."_

"It would be worth it. I finally have my family back. And my career is flourishing. I'll never let anything take them away. I love you, Noriko. I love all of you. When you come back, I want you to meet the rest of our family. Because, after all these years, I've finally found them."

 _"I'd love to,"_ she whispered. _"There's nothing more I want right now than to see them. But... I think we need to let go."_

"What?"

 _"It's normal, isn't it?"_ Noriko reasoned, though she did not sound entirely convinced herself. _"For a married daughter to leave the nest. Just imagine it as that."_

"I... Noriko, no. This is different. How can I just let you go?"

_"Just forget about me. It's a miracle my dad hasn't found out about us yet. Focus on your family instead."_

"Noriko. You _are_ my family."

She turned away, gripping the covers with all her might. "Dad. Thank you. For all the times I needed you, you were there. But things are different now. Don't worry. Shintaro will look after me. Thank you for everything. The next time we talk, I hope we're happier."

"Noriko, wait—"

The call ended.

* * *

**July, 2012**

Chen cracked open a beer by the heater, chugging half of its contents down in one gulp. "Hey, I've been thinking..."

"This ought to be good," Shō snorted, taking a sip of his own beer. It was fresh from the fridge, moisture still clinging to the can.

"I think I'm ready to go my own way soon."

Shō blinked. "Ah. You're leaving me?"

"My contract ends in December," Chen reminded him. "And I don't think I'm gonna renew it this time around."

"Well," Shō put down his beer, setting his hands on his knees, "If I may ask, where do you intend to go next?"

"Around," he said, nonchalant. "I've been looking into the modelling part of the industry, and..." A lecherous grin spread across his face. " _Damn_. I've already started contacting agencies, and I have a bunch of interviews lined up next week."

"You have a girlfriend, do you not?" questioned Shō. "Back in China."

"As if I don't know that whore's cheating on me. The next time I'm flying back, it's to dump her slutty ass. Here, look." Chen took out his phone, opening his gallery to reveal a white-haired teenage girl. "Her name's Oishi Ryoka, and she's currently a freelance model and idol in high school. She hasn't signed with any agency yet, but word has it her family is looking at HNN Entertainment. She's cute, right?"

Shō let out a noncommittal grunt. "A little young, isn't she? You have strange tastes, Jianhong." _HNN Entertainment... That's a branch of HNN Foundation. Noriko..._ It had almost been a year since they had last spoken. He'd been trying to focus his attention on Akari and Osamu, but he missed her.

"I wouldn't date her," Chen said defensively, breaking his train of thought. "Just 'cause she's a lil' cute doesn't mean that... Ah, forget it. There's another woman I have my eye on anyway."

"Oh? And who's that?"

Chen mumbled something incoherent before continuing to scroll through his phone. "It won't be a problem, right? Me leaving you. You can just replace me with another guy."

"It shouldn't be a problem, no," Shō confirmed. "But we'll be doing one last show together. A Christmas game show. It'll be filmed in Sapporo."

"Sure." Chen raised his beer can. "Cheers?"

The sound of aluminium clinking, followed by the sound of house slippers slapping on the tiled flooring.

"Shinya?" Osamu, sixteen years old and almost the same height as Chen, stopped behind the couch where Chen and Shō were seated. "Yo. I've finished my exercises."

"Let me see." Shō held out a hand, and Osamu dumped a workbook into his palm. With a scrutinizing eye, he flipped through Osamu's most recent writing. It was near perfect, the way he had emulated Shō's handwriting. Even the curve of 'tsu' was the same. Pleased, he closed the book. "Good job, Osamu-kun. Is it translating well into your knife skills?"

"Hmm..." Osamu examined his left hand. "Guess we'll have to see."

He was gone soon after, and Chen cocked an eyebrow at Shō. "You trained him to be ambidextrous?"

"Not quite," Shō corrected, "I just thought it would be better for him to start using his left hand exclusively from now on."

"And why is that?"

Shō did not answer. Did not reveal to Chen that his Osamu—the _real_ Osamu—had been left-handed. Had laughed at tennis opponents confused by southpaw, had slapped the hands of his friends in celebration with his left hand.

* * *

**November 13th, 2012**

It was the beginning of the end. What he had done was finally catching up to him, but he refused to go down like this. His hand shook with rage as he regarded the mysterious texts. _How dare he...!_ Gritting his teeth, Shō shut his phone off, pacing around his study.

No one who knew—absolutely _no one_ —should have opened their mouths. If word got out of this, everything would be ruined—the media would spite him, and his agency would cut ties with him. And Osamu—that boy was too much of a wild card, especially when his twin was involved in any way. His family would be ripped apart once more.

_But a non-disclosure agreement was signed!_

It was unlikely the sender was that brat, Atsumu.

_So, who? Who could it be?_

**[Shō]:** Who is this?

 **[? ? ?]:** That's none of your concern.

 **[? ? ?]:** I want to negotiate.

He sent an address in Sendai next. Shō took a screenshot of it just in case, another message pinging soon after.

 **[? ? ?]:** Meet me here tomorrow night at 8, or else I'll tell everything to the world.

Whoever he was, he wasn't giving him any time to get things into order.

_But there's one fatal mistake you're making._

_You've completely underestimated me._

It was not a common thing for him to be underestimated or looked over. He was getting into his older years now, and many saw him as little more than a harmless old man. "Miu!" he barked, and the maid appeared before him within seconds. "Something at work came up. Tell Akari and Osamu when they get back that I'll be gone until tomorrow."

Miu bowed. "Understood, sir."

 _This cannot get out._ He started his car, zoomed out of the garage, down the streets of Tokyo, and merged into the highway. _If it does, I'll lose everything._ His phone on his lap as he drove, he used one hand to go through his contacts and press on a name he hadn't spoken to in over a year. The car's Bluetooth took over, and the monotonous dial tone reverberated throughout the vehicle.

_Click._

_"Dad?"_ Noriko sounded shocked. _"Dad, you..."_

"I'm sorry, Noriko," Shō hurried things along, "But I need your help. Please, as my beloved daughter... Please help me."

 _"I... Give me a moment, Shintaro is in the next room."_ He could hear her footfall, then the sound of cars zooming down below. She was probably standing on her balcony, afternoon breeze whipping through her hair. _"What is it?"_

"I'm being threatened."

_"What?! By who?"_

"I don't know. But I need to get rid of them. I need to make sure they never speak of this ever again."

_"What do you want from me, then? Money for a bribe?"_

Shō held his breath, then exhaled sharply. "No. He's not a politician or a businessman... That much is for sure. He didn't seem interested in money at all."

_"Then..."_

"Noriko. This will be the last thing I ask of you."

 _"Dad?"_ She sounded terrified. Shō couldn't blame her. His own heart was pounding so fast and hard he thought he would die.

"I need you to help me get away with murder."

* * *

**November 14th, 2012**

They checked into a seedy motel, one with staff that wouldn't ask questions when seeing a young girl and an old man paying for a room for one night.

In their room, Shō eyed Noriko up and down, brow raised to his hairline. "Why are you wearing your old Karasuno uniform...?"

"It's a long story," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I agreed, didn't I? Save the small talk."

"You've gotten cold."

"You're asking me to murder someone!" snapped Noriko. "Dad, what happened to you? Never mind, don't answer. I don't want to know. Here." She passed him a file. "The address you sent me belongs to the Oikawa family," she said as Shō flipped through it, mentally processing the faces of each family member. "I did a background check, as usual. The mother goes out for evening game night with her friends on Wednesdays—so, tonight—and the dad works late. The sister doesn't live in the same house as them, and the oldest brother is deceased as of 2001. Pneumonia. So the only occupant, and the one who called you is..."

"Oikawa Tooru," murmured Shō, clutching the paper tightly. "Yes... I see now." His gaze flicked up at Noriko. "Do you have it?"

"Mm." Noriko fished a pill in a tiny, pocket-sized bag out of her backpack, which she had placed on the bed. "It shouldn't be detected by forensics equipment, if the family even decides to let the police do an autopsy."

"Noriko..." He took it from her, dispensing it in his jacket pocket before hugging her tightly. "Thank you." Shō glanced down at his watch. "We still have a few hours. Care to explain the uniform?"

Noriko sighed again. "It's shameful."

"You're my daughter. You know I won't judge you."

Nodding, she sat down on the bed, tapping her fingers on her skirt. "It was part of the plan. I didn't tell you, but... I found someone to take the fall."

"What?" Shō's eyes widened. "Who?"

"His best friend, Iwaizumi Hajime. I paid him a visit today during lunch. Not as myself, of course, but... as a student. All I needed were his fingerprints, and with the short notice I got, this was the best I could come up with."

"What exactly did you do...?"

Shō listened in silence. Listened to the tale Noriko told—falsifying a confession, breaking into Iwaizumi's house through his room's window and recollecting the clay pig she had given him with gloved hands.

"Here." Noriko pulled out another object from her bag, this time the clay pig in a sealed bag. "His fingerprints from here will be planted onto the weapon."

"But how?"

Noriko looked down. "Don't worry about it. I have someone on the inside who will handle it. One more thing..." She gave him a taser. "Just in case things go south. It's almost eight o'clock now, isn't it? We should get going."

Hand in hand, they exited the motel.

He could feel blood sticking their palms together before the sensation disappeared.

* * *

The interior of the house was clean and well-kept. Superbly upper-middle class, in Shō's opinion. He was in the middle of appreciating the wallpaper when Oikawa Tooru placed two cups down in front of him on the coffee table; the table sat between two comfortable couches.

"It's been a long time," Oikawa said, keeping his tone casual. "Do you remember me? Don't worry—I won't be hurt if you don't."

"I'll be honest with you, I definitely didn't see you coming," Shō said, steepling his black-gloved fingers. Perfect for a wintry night. "You've done a good job at blindsiding me." _So I'll have to return the favor, won't I?_

Oikawa gave him a close-eyed smile. "No need to be so hostile. I invited you over to negotiate, remember?"

"Oh, yes, I do recall. You could've done it over the phone, you know."

"Ah, but then you wouldn't take it as seriously."

 _He's got a point._ Shō decided to skip the further pleasantries and dive straight to it. "What are your terms?"

"Reasonable," Oikawa quipped before growing eerily solemn. "I know what you did to Atsumu. You used him, then you robbed him of everything."

"That's rather presumptuous of you." Shō clicked his tongue. "Did he squeal on me?"

Oikawa deflected easily. "Let's just say I'm pretty good at noticing my surroundings."

 _Yes, you are, aren't you?_ He was suddenly very aware of the pill in his pocket and the knife in the inside pocket of his navy blue coat. _I'm going to have to change that._

"I want you to take him with you," Oikawa went on, "So he can be with his brother and mother again. In return, I'll stay quiet about your scheming. You don't have to like him, just tolerate his presence. And he's an okay guy, in my humble opinion. See? It's reasonable."

"Mm, yes, I suppose so... But," Shō narrowed his eyes, "How do I know you'll keep your silence?"

Oikawa beamed. "That's the fun part, isn't it? Not knowing. Don't worry, though, I won't snitch. Not unless you give me reason to."

"Hmph." Shō threw back the rest of his water. "I'm a little parched. Why don't you get me some more water, and I'll think."

"Ahh, you're lucky I'm a polite host, hm?"

As soon as Oikawa's back was turned, pouring water from a pitcher at the kitchen, Shō hastily opened up the plastic bag with the pill in it and dropped it into Oikawa's half-finished water. It dissolved within seconds, and the plastic baggie was back in his pocket before Oikawa turned back.

"Here." The teenager set down a full glass on the table. "Drink up, sir."

Shō did. "Thank you, Oikawa-san. You've grown up to be a wonderful young man, I must say."

He smiled thinly. "I wish I could say the same. So... Treat Atsumu well, and don't ever pull your weird stunts on him again, got it? In return, I won't say a word to anyone about what happened all those years ago."

 _Tsk. Little brat._ "I agree to your terms." Shō raised his glass.

In turn, Oikawa did the same, and their glasses clinked before they drank.

"Then the deal is sealed," Oikawa said with a note of finality to his voice. "Thanks for coming, Shō-san."

"Thank you for having me."

They shook hands.

Oikawa raised a brow at where their hands were connected. Of course. Shō's hands were clammy. But Oikawa said nothing of it, merely led him out the side entrance of his house, where Shō's shoes were. His neighborhood was deserted. The only sound was the babbling of a nearby river, the cicadas which would have buzzed in the summer now gone for the oncoming winter.

 _The pill should take effect soon,_ Shō thought as he verbalized another goodbye to Oikawa. Then he added, "Ah... Why don't we walk a bit? It's a lovely night for a stroll."

Oikawa shrugged. "Sure, but just down the road."

The moon was a waxing crescent on this windy night. The occasional stray leaf brushed against their shoes. Oikawa was still wearing his winter sports uniform, his Aobajosai jacket haphazardly thrown on.

"Let's not see each other again," advised Oikawa, breaking the silence. "Or things might not end so pretty next time."

Shō almost guffawed. "Is that a threat?"

"Haha. No, of course not. Geh..." Oikawa palmed his forehead, blinking rapidly. "What the hell...? My head... It's spinning..."

Beside them, the river gurgled.

Oikawa stumbled backward, his knees buckling beneath his weight. "What," he slurred, panic alight in his eyes. With one stiff hand, he dug his phone out of his pocket and tried to type. "Did you do to me...?!"

"Sorry," Shō said, walking toward him and kicking the device out of his hand. "But I'm just protecting my own livelihood and my family. You understand, don't you?"

"You bastard...!"

"Goodnight, Oikawa-san."

Blood sprayed in the night.

And a knife, its blade covered with crimson, clattered onto the concrete.

Shō grimaced at the way Oikawa sputtered, hands around his neck as he desperately tried to keep the flesh that Shō had parted together. But it was all in vain, and Shō watched the life drain out of his eyes, a haze of death spreading over his pupils like gossamer.

He turned to the river.

* * *

**[Attsun]:** Oi

 **[Attsun]:** Oikawa

 **[Attsun]:** dude answer me

 **[Attsun]:** Oikawa, you there?

 **[Attsun]:** OIKAWA!

The phone rang. He answered out of reflex, then hung up.

 _I thought so._ Shō gazed at the glowing screen of Oikawa's smartphone. _It was too close not to be related._ He contemplated the best response, then typed it out, leaning against a wooden fence.

 **[Oikawa]:** Osamu's next if you continue to pursue this.

It had been read.

Shō held down the message with his thumb and deleted it.

As he strolled down the streets of Aoba Ward, a schoolboy bumped into him.

"Ah!" The boy, who was on the phone, held an arm up in apology. "Sorry, sir."

 _"Yuutarou?"_ the boy's mother screeched from the other end. _"Who are you talking to?"_

"Nothing, mom, I just bumped into someone by accident..."

He disappeared around the corner, and Shō forgot all about him. He dialed her once, then twice, but she only picked up the third time, when he was at his car.

"It's done," Shō droned into the speaker, removing his bloodstained jacket. No reply. "Noriko? Dear?"

 _"If I stay out any longer, Shintaro will ask questions. Please,"_ Noriko breathed, _"Don't ever call me again."_

* * *

**December 2nd, 2012**

"And that's a wrap!"

"Good job, everyone, good job!"

Akari sighed beside where Shō was sitting, carrying two bottles of water—one was hers and the other belonged to Osamu. "I was so worried," she remarked, referring to the trampoline bungee jump part of the segment, a segment that was sure to be riddled with all sorts of ridiculous sound effects after the editing process. "I kept thinking to myself: 'What if they fell'?"

"Don't worry, don't worry," Shō appeased, screwing the cap of his own bottled water open. "I would never jeopardize the safety of our son."

Akari kissed his cheek. "I know you wouldn't. I'm just being silly, that's all."

At the snack table, the teens were gathered and filling their stomachs after two hours of non-stop filming. The only one who wasn't touching the food was Oishi, who was filing her nails in disinterest.

"Come on," Osamu shoved a muffin toward her, "Eat up, Ryoka."

"Um, no."

"Yeah, come on, Ryoka-chan," said another contestant, a young girl. "You need to eat if you want to get your energy back!"

"We're done for today, and our break's continuing after this. This was just _supposed_ to be a quick intermission for the fans. Plus, none of these foods are approved for my diet."

Osamu rolled his eyes. "You're already thin as a stick. Just eat—it won't kill ya."

Oishi scrunched up her nose at the notion. "Look. I respect the fact that you like to gorge yourself like a starving man, so please respect the fact that I have a very strict diet. Okay?"

"Fine, I geddit. More for us, then."

Soon, Oishi was dragged away by her parents to meet with Chen, who Shō knew wanted to be the manager of the young model. Akari was still talking, this time about the upcoming continuation of their filming break.

"—and, of course, we'll be staying on set. I contemplated a visit back home to see Hozumi and Atsumu again, but... I don't think it's wise." She twisted around to peer at where Chen was standing in a circle wit Oishi and her mother and father. "I heard Chen-san will be flying back to China tomorrow. To visit his fiancée, was it?"

 _Ah. She's just fishing for gossip at this point._ Amused, he replied, "Girlfriend. Although I'm not entirely sure if it will be a happy reunion."

"Oh?" Akari's eyes gleamed. She was quite the fox, this woman. Sly. But endearing enough. Nothing like his old wife, but he ignored that fact—he and Akari weren't even married, and he could not see himself wedded to her in the future. "Do tell."

"Maybe later, ma," Osamu interrupted as he came up. "D'ya think you can gimme a ride downtown? I need ta shop for ingredients."

"Oh, well, of course, dear. We'll talk later, Shinya."

"Take your time," Shō replied. "I won't be going anywhere today."

Once they were gone, his shoulders sagged. Truthfully, he hadn't been sleeping well lately. _Not since..._

Oikawa's eyes stared at him in the darkness, blood spilling from his slashed throat.

 _No._ Shō massaged his temple. _Stop it. The deed is done. No point in dwelling on it._

 _"But you killed a man,"_ a tiny voice whispered back into the void. _"No, not a man... A boy. You killed a young boy."_

 _I did what I had to do._ _I've already lost everything once. I won't lose them again._

_"You jumped to very drastic measures."_

_To ensure the best outcome._

_"Is this really for the best, though?"_

The voice was silenced as he exited through a side door, heading upstairs to the outside balcony. The snowfall was moderate today, but the chill iced his veins and seeped into his bones. He breathed out, and a white puff emerged from his mouth.

There was blood on his hands now. He was no different from Hinata Noboatsu. _No,_ _I'm worse._ It clung to him like a parasite, feeding off his energy and his vigor, two things that were already beginning to fade from age.

That night, Akari sleeping peacefully beside him, he got up and out of bed and wrote. Wrote nonsense, and violence, and tears, and anguish. His pen shredded through his notebook, and he filled every single page with thoughts that came to mind.

And it was here, on the last page with both sides clean, that he slowed down, then restarted.

_I will hide_

Like a coward.

_I will run_

From everything he had done.

_I am the one_

_Who killed_

_Oikawa-san_

With one slash of a blade, his life was gone.

_Don't look at me with horror_

_I see it in your gaze_

_They are like knives_

_That rip my soul apart_

_Please_

_Please_

_Don't let me drown_

_Sanzu River that reflects in your eyes_

Oikawa's brown, brown eyes faded beneath the streetlight, and he could see the underworld reflected in them.

_Like afternoon sun._

* * *

**December 5th, 2012**

The flight back to Tokyo was tedious, and it made he drum his fingers on the armrest of his seat every five seconds—to the point where his seat neighbor complained.

Akari and Osamu were none the wiser of what he would be doing—where he would be going next. All he had told them was that he would be returning to Tokyo to visit extended family. Folded neatly in his pocket was the note he had torn out from his notebook two nights ago—his final and only confession of the terrible, terrible deed that would plague him for the rest of his life. His only salvation, and even then it would not save him for good. He was destined for hell, this he knew.

_This is insanity._

His fingers tapped.

His neighbor shot him a look.

 _Is this what it does to you?_ It was like being eaten alive and feeling every single tooth rip through his flesh, throat muscles constricting around his body and bending his limbs in ways not meant to happen. _Is this... how it feels to take a life?_

Throughout the entire flight, he would not stop shaking.

When he landed, he took a taxi straight back to his condominium, not even stopping for breakfast.

Shō paid the driver a large tip, ignoring his cries of surprise, and rushed into the garage. A half an hour drive through the city later, he was zooming down the highway, heading north for Sendai, Miyagi.

_Forgive me._

_Forgive me, forgive me._

It was late afternoon when he arrived in Aoba Ward, between Torono Town and the next town over. Shō was circling the town, his aimless resolve bubbling within. There was little to no traffic today, everybody either at school or at work, though the former would be ending soon. Finally, he stopped his car in the parking lot of Shimada Mart, exhaling sharply and rubbing his cheeks roughly. Flipping down the sun visor and swiping the mirror open, he observed his own pallid complexion. He'd lost weight, and there were more grays in his hair than he remembered.

 _A smoke_ , he thought, sighing. _I need a smoke._ He reached into his jacket pocket, where he usually kept them, but found nothing. Perplexed, he checked his person, but to no avail. The glove box on the passenger side was next to be examined, but no cigarette cartons turned up. _Dammit. I must have left them at home..._

But he _had_ taken his wallet and lighter with him. He could feel it in the back pocket of his jeans. He got out of the car, pulling his cap over his eyes and patting his back pocket one more time to make sure they were there.

"Welcome," the bored teenager at the counter droned as he walked in; she never looked up from her fashion magazine.

"Just some cigarettes, thanks," Shō said, opening up his wallet.

With an impatient pinch of her lips, she slapped her magazine down and swiveled around her chair to face the back shelf, where all smoking paraphernalia was stored. "What brand?"

"Nevius."

He was getting the appropriate amount of yen out when he felt a presence behind him. Peering back slightly, he tried not to seem surprised at the familiar face that greeted him.

Kageyama Miwa, her hair held up in a half ponytail, was rearranging the groceries in her basket as she lined up to be served.

"That will be 480 yen, thank you," the cashier's voice broke into his thoughts. "Will that be cash or card?"

"Cash, please." It was best not to leave any traces of his spending while he was here.

Miwa stepped forward, then, and Shō instinctively pulled his cap further down, hoping she wouldn't recognize him. Thankfully, she appeared oblivious of his identity, placing her basket down on the counter and greeting the cashier halfheartedly.

Shō was getting into his car when the paper fell from his pocket. Urgently, he picked it up, only relaxing somewhat when it was pinched safely between his fingers. Closing his car door, he unfolded the note, reading through it in his head. Remorse bled from it, accompanied by the unpleasant stench of guilt and shame.

The back of his eyes stung, and he hiccuped, almost breathless from the squeezing in his chest. He took out his lighter, the flame appearing with a single push of his finger. Tentatively, he held the wisp of fire near the paper.

_Should I...?_

The flame vanished.

He knew where he would go next.

Prior to filming, he had done some shooting outside the studio to evoke a sense of backstory for some of the contestants. Oikawa Tooru, who had only been chosen because he lived in Sendai, had been one of them. They'd come to his school, Oikawa showing them around with a brand of dramatic flair that only he could pull off.

_"Here's my shoe locker!" Oikawa slapped the front of the locker, which was covered with stickers and even messages from fan girls. "It might seem pretty ordinary, but believe me when I say it's the centre of a lot of drama? What kind of drama, you ask? I think I'll keep you guessing for that one."_

_Forgive me._

Without further prompting, Shō got out of his car, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Kitagawa Daiichi, he remembered, was near here. Probably a ten or fifteen minute walk at most.

He arrived just as the three o'clock bell rang, strolling through the gates and through the stream of students that were flooding out. Some gave him odd looks.

"Eh? Who's that?"

"Somebody's father, maybe...?"

"Who cares? Let's go karaoke!"

The attention he drew to himself was fleeting at most, and he passed without any trouble. Shō glanced up at the front of the main school building. There were no security cameras. Entering through the front doors, he was met with quite the sight—dozens of middle school students exchanging their shoes at the locker and chatting about idle gossip and assessment results.

 _If I remember, his locker should be... right here._ He stopped in front of a bare locker, cocking a brow. Maybe the stickers had been peeled off, but there didn't seem to be any sign of stickers having been there at all.

"Ah, man," he overheard part of a conversation, "I hate this. I keep getting confused about where my locker is."

"Yeah, it sucks majorly that they threw the old ones out. At least those had our name tags on them—these ones just have numbers."

"Oh, excuse me," interrupted Shō, making the two teens—a girl and a boy—turn to him. "Do you know where I can find these old lockers?"

"Sure," said the female student. "They were moved to an abandoned building to the side of the main one. Just go down this right corridor and take the exit—you won't miss it."

Shō dipped his head. "Thank you. Good luck on your studies."

"Thank you, sir!"

Fiddling with his cap again, Shō went on, following her directions. True to her word, the building was indeed impossible to miss—it appeared rundown and older than the rest. Kitaichi boasted their modern technology and shiny classrooms, so it was almost like a blemish on the school.

It was here he stumbled across a locker marred with stickers and adoring messages. It was here he forced it open with both hands and placed the inconspicuous note on a fine layer of dust inside the compartment. It was here he closed it and shuddered from the winter breeze that blew through the open door, unseen from his perspective.

The door creaked.

 _No,_ Shō realized. _Not wind. It's..._

The crown of Kageyama Miwa's head bobbed into view, and Shō squatted and scurried over to another row of abandoned lockers, pressing against the metal. _Kageyama... So she recognized me after all. Damn her!_ Slowly, silently, he unzipped his bag, reaching for the taser Noriko had gifted him that night but instead finding himself holding a knife instead—one he had come to keep with him at all times.

"I knew it," Shō heard Miwa whisper as she read the contents of the note. "I knew it...!"

Shō rolled out from behind his cover and lunged for her.

She turned around just in time to shriek and jump back from having her neck sliced open by his knife. Instead, he had caught her hand, blood spattering across the paper as it floated to the floor.

Her eyes widened in terror. _"You."_

No. He couldn't kill her. He couldn't take another life like this.

A strangled scream emerging from her throat, she ran, hand cradled to her chest and nearly slipping in her own blood.

But he couldn't let her run either. He had already gone too far to protect the truth.

He caught up to her in three broad strides, palm clamping over her nose and mouth, pulling her back. Shō swore when she bit down on his finger, and jabbed the taser against the nape of her neck. Her entire body convulsed momentarily before she fell unconscious in his arms.

The taser clattered to the floor.

Shō breathed a sigh of relief. _That was almost too close._ Trying to calm his frayed nerves, he shoved the taser into his half-open backpack and picked up Miwa with relative ease. Though tall, the woman was skinny—light enough to be carried bridal style.

The building was deserted—would probably be renovated or torn down sooner or later and replaced with a new building.

 _There must be a side entrance somewhere... But I can't go out like this. Not with her._ Gently, he let her body slump to the floor, against the wall. For extra measure, he stunned her one more time, then left the scene to jog back to his car.

He parked near the side entrance, where nobody would see him. Then, hastily, Shō clicked open his boot and returned to where he had left her. Something in his chest clenched as he saw her—witnessed her slackened form, the muscles in her face completely and utterly relaxed.

She looked peaceful.

Grunting, he picked her up again and carried her, dumping her into the back of his car. Scanning his surroundings to find no one, he closed the boot.

One last time, he opened the shoe locker. The note was still there.

He closed it.

And it would stay there until the writing faded and smeared, his final plead for forgiveness from Oikawa Tooru.

* * *

It was nearly night.

A lonely stretch of road on the mountain.

And a teenage boy appearing in his headlights, unable to even comprehend his fate in those precious seconds before the impact.

But Shō did not stop.

* * *

"Miu."

"Yes, sir?"

"Pour me another drink."

"Right away, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am aware this backstory is not complete, with events only leading up until Miwa's kidnapping/Goshiki's accident. It's because the reader is already (mostly) aware of what transpires after this, and there will be a later part completing this/filling in the gaps kinda.
> 
> As I write this, I have an inexplicable urge to party like it's Christmas. I am in a huge Christmas mood right now.
> 
> Also some trivia: 'Nevius' is 'Mevius' in the real world, the number one cigarette brand in Japan.
> 
> Another fun fact: Both Oikawa and Miwa were killed/kidnapped on a Wednesday lol
> 
> After this, we're going back to 2018 and then... into another flashback. But not Shō's! His time is over, and it's time for... *confetti rain* Goshiki's turn! After that, this arc will conclude, kinda, and then we'll move forward to the Blank Period! Yipee!
> 
> Comments and discussion are love and, holy heck, huge drivers for me to write!


	33. The Final Ashes of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is buried. 
> 
> But from it, justice will emerge, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Suicide.

_"He'll never play volleyball ever again."_

* * *

**May 8th, 2018**

"So, that's it?"

His words were like splintering ice.

Shō closed his eyes. "I don't know what else to tell you."

Sakusa knew. That anything would have been better than the truth for Goshiki Tsutomu. In the radar of the man who had robbed him of the life he had known, he was little more than an insignificant little blip. Collateral damage in a string of lies and deceit brought about by the selfishness depravity of several men and women—all of whom had nothing to do with him.

"No," said Goshiki, desperately. "That can't be it. There _has_ to be more."

But there wasn't.

Silence weighed heavily on the rooftop, cut by helicopter blades rotating in the air. If Sakusa looked up, he would be able to see officers in the sky reporting the situation from above.

"Come on," Goshiki barked a wobbly laugh, "I'm not _that_ unimportant, am I? Do you have _any_ idea what you put me through? I went through _hell_ , and all you can tell me is some tragic tale that's all about you? What about _me_?"

For a moment, Sakusa could only think how selfish his words were. Unrestrained and yearning for someone to tell him that he mattered, too. That he wasn't just an unfortunate nothing in the grand scheme of the universe. But there was no disgust.

Only pity.

Pity for a promising young boy who had turned into a man who only knew hurt and resentment, who was now lashing out against the world that had treated him so cruelly.

In a way, Sakusa knew— _understood_ —what he was feeling. The sheer helplessness that formed as an impossibly steep mountain in front of him, its very presence crushing him into the ground.

Goshiki dug into his phone and pressed a button. The smallest ding sounded, indicating the end of a voice recording. Then he pressed it again, lifting it to his mouth.

"May eighth, 2018," Goshiki spoke into his phone. Sakusa watched his lips move in slow motion, the effects off the drug still clouding his mind. The ropes that had bound his wrists together were loose enough for him to move his hands freely at this point, but Goshiki was still armed. "Everything's gonna end today. I... I don't want people to forget me. If at least one person remembers me... then..." he trailed off, perhaps unsure of what to say next. His arm began to shake. "I just—" He took a deep, gasping breath. "I don't want people to forget who I am. Who I used to be. It's too late for pity now. But I want people to _know_. And when this plays in court—and I know it will—I hope the jury and the press... don't leave my name out from the records. That's your job, isn't it?" He glanced up at Sakusa with world-weary eyes. "Prosecutor... Hah... Haha! Justice _hinges_ on you. But who are you? Who are you to decide what justice is? What it should be?" Goshiki palmed his chest, pressing his phone against the fabric of his baggy hoodie. "What about me? Do I somehow have less of a say, even though I was the one who he wronged? Is that why everyone is trying to stop me down there? How is that fair?"

"It isn't," Sakusa answered honestly. "The law isn't fair. No amount of retribution or punishment will ever recover what you've lost." And he knew this with his whole heart. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and even after all these years, the aftertaste had never sat right with this tongue. But even so—warmth could not be sought from a cold hand.

"Then why do we follow it?" challenged Goshiki. "Why do we follow the law? The law which says its wrong to exact justice on my own terms? Why should the law exist?"

"If the law did not exist, would it reverse the past?" he asked in return, lowering his gaze. "Would it mean that you would have continued your life undisturbed? No. Human society is built on order, no matter how callous or hypocritical it may be. To descend into anarchy would mean that men like Shō will emerge in greater numbers and greater strength. And they can never— _never_ —be allowed to thrive."

"And what about men like me?"

At that, Sakusa paused. Then, he answered, "Men like you and men like him... Are not as different as you would like to think." His hair obscured his view of Goshiki for a brief moment, his raven locks blowing in the wind. From his position, he could see the sun setting behind Goshiki, starting to dip below the city skyline.

"I know what you mean. I've sunk pretty low, haven't I? But can you really say that he doesn't fucking deserve it?" Goshiki lifted his phone near his mouth again. "I'm in the right here."

"So am I," was all Sakusa had to say.

"I see. So I'm still the bad guy to you after all, huh? Fine. May eighth," he repeated, voice wavering as the police helicopter drifted close by, "2018." A beat. "No. December fifth, 2012."

* * *

**December 5th, 2012**

Goshiki had never seen the school like this before. It was strange, coming through the school gates on this Wednesday morning. He exhaled, grinning at the puff of whiteness that dispersed in front of his face. But the smile soon fell when saw a group of students walking past him, sullen. It was the look of dejection that he had been seeing everywhere he went.

 _Right._ Uncomfortably, he adjusted his backpack, reaching one arm to pull the hem of his uniform blazer—which had folded up, pressed against his back and his bag—down. _It's 'cause we lost._ Even after a month, it still haunted the school.

Losing was not a foreign concept to Goshiki—not completely, anyway. He had lost many times in elementary and middle school, but...

 _I'm in Shiratorizawa now._ He hadn't expect to lose at all from here on out. And perhaps it was entirely naive for him to think so, but he couldn't help it. This was the team that had boasted the cannon Ushijima Wakatoshi—an unrelenting force of power and dominance. But now Ushijima was going to be graduating in a few months, and the shoes that Goshiki wanted so desperately to fill would soon become vacant.

"I'm counting on you," Ushijima had said.

It was remembering his words that filled Goshiki with all the energy he needed, and a pair of girls flinched at the sudden radiance he seemed to emit. The Miyagi First Years' Training Camp began this afternoon, and it was here that he would polish the skills he needed to play at the top of his game. Receiving. Blocking.

Mental strength.

Yes, Goshiki decided, he was going to try his best to bring out the potential he knew he had.

"Ah, it's Tsutomu!" A hand slapped his back, and Goshiki looked to the side to see Tendou, who was beaming at him. "You're looking chipper this morning. Ready to ace that math exam in second period?"

"Math exam?!" squawked Goshiki. "Quick, you gotta lend me your notes—!"

"Idiot. He's a third year."

Goshiki whipped around so fast he almost bashed his head into Tendou's cheek. "Geh...! Shirabu-senpai...!"

Shirabu looked the same as usual, at least. And Tendou's behavior was nothing out of the blue. It was relieving. Goshiki had never dealt too well with change, and having two constants in his life was enough to make the tension ease out of him.

"Close your mouth," Shirabu instructed, joining them so that Goshiki was sandwiched in the middle. "You'll catch flies." He leaned forward to peer momentarily at Tendou. "Morning. Is Ushijima-san not with you?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but Wakatoshi-kun's still in the dorm. He made the mistake of reading the massage chair brochure I picked up at the ramen bar the other day," Tendou said, as if it was totally normal for Ushijima to be consumed by the contents of a massage chair ad. And, Goshiki knew, it was. "I think he's emotionally invested, but he'll probably be out soon."

"If you make Ushijima-san late, I swear I'll—"

"Mou, Shirabu-kun, are you a maiden in love or something?"

As Shirabu bared his teeth at Tendou, Goshiki laughed. It was clear and filled with childish glee—one that made both Tendou and Shirabu glance at him incredulously. But their bemusement didn't last—Tendou let out a snort, and Shirabu allowed himself to crack a small smile.

He had never really had teammates like this. Teammates and friends that ribbed him and made jokes at his expense. The boys from elementary and middle school had been too busy admiring his height and haircut (or so he liked to believe for the latter) to be comfortable around him in the way that the boys now were.

"Hey, Goshiki," Shirabu addressed him, and Goshiki stood to attention, "You've got the training camp today, right?"

Goshiki nodded. "Yes, until this Sunday!"

"Training camp, huh? Wakatoshi-kun and I were just talking about that last night," Tendou chimed in, thoughtful. "He said yes, but I think he was in the middle of repeating that soap ad in his head... I wonder if I can convince him to pay a visit to the firsties..."

"Really?" Goshiki perked up even more. A chance to learn more from Ushijima would be _golden_.

"I already got Semisemi and Reon in on it. Hayato's ignoring my texts, though... Either that, or he's lost his phone again. Oh!" Tendou snapped his fingers. "Wanna come, too, Shirabu-kun?"

"No thanks. I got cram school today."

"Wow~!"

Shirabu frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. I just know you're telling the truth because you hate missing out on spending time with Wakatoshi-kun. Don't worry, though, we won't be stealing him away from you."

"I don't care that you're a senpai, I am _this_ close to—"

Goshiki tuned out the rest of Shirabu's sentence—which was mostly expletives—as he daydreamed about what was to come. Today was just the _start_ of a five-day long training camp—a training camp that was only for the best of the best. _And I'm one of them._ The thought of it made his heart soar. Of course, some of the other boys might think that he had only gotten in with nepotism at play, so it was important for him to establish his dominance by letting his skills speak for themselves. He was trying to decide whether to spook them with a cutting cross-short or a striking line-shot when Tendou tapped his shoulder.

"After the camp today," Tendou said. "Some of us are heading downtown for barbecue. Since Shirabu-kun's gonna be studying his ass off in a cramped room, he won't be there to bully you. So, you wanna join us?"

"I'm _literally_ right here," complained Shirabu.

"Ah..." Goshiki rubbed the back of his head. "Maybe not tonight, Tendou-san. I don't wanna eat too heavily since I have camp tomorrow, too."

"Aw. Oh well, suit yourself, I guess. We're gonna have so much fun without you two!"

Shirabu rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

Goshiki Tsutomu marched through the day ahead, his smile morphing into a wobbly grimace when it came the time to meet the other players. They all got into a single file line, and Goshiki found himself stuck between two tall guys—Koganegawa Kanji and Tsukishima Kei. For some reason, Tsukishima kept glancing at the vacant spot to his left, as if he were expecting some nuisance to suddenly befall him and sagging in relief when there was nothing. Even Goshiki felt it. That there was something—or _someone_ —that was supposed to have been there. The feeling didn't last, though, and they straightened as the Johzenji coach, Anabara Takaaki, took attendance.

The camp proceeded as planned. Coach Washijo gave a short speech about the importance of absorbing each other's skills and plays, then Anabara took the reins.

"Okay!" Anabara announced. "We'll start with passing drills as an ice-breaker. Pair up and introduce yourselves to each other. Oh! And try to pick someone with as different a skill level from yours as possible."

Koganegawa instantly bounded for the closest person in his proximity—the sleepy-looking first year from Aobajosai. Goshiki watched their interaction carefully, remembering that it had been Kunimi Akira's diving save that had prevented his spike from touching the floor. The next play after that had been their ace—their _former_ ace, Goshiki thought with an uneasy stomach—spiking the ball into the ground. The play that had stolen the win from Shiratorizawa.

"Hi there!" Koganegawa held out a hand, startling Kunimi and interrupting Goshiki's train of thought.

Lamely, Kunimi took his hand without a word.

Behind where Goshiki was standing, Kindaichi Yuutarou was making awkward eye contact with a freckled Shiratorizawa Junior High kid—Yura Shouta. The two shuffled toward each other, murmuring introductions.

"No milling around," Anabara added just as Goshiki squinted up at Hyakuzawa Yūdai from Kakugawa High. The ceiling light was shadowing Hyakuzawa's face, making him look rather menacing as he loomed over Goshiki.

"Uh, hi," Goshiki greeted.

Hyakuzawa nodded. "Hi."

A silence ensued. Looking around, Goshiki saw that the boys who had already paired off were starting their drills. As some kind of peace offering, he grabbed a ball and held it out toward the taller boy. "So... Shall we?"

Another nod. "Sure."

They had hardly been practicing for five minutes before Washijo felt the need to intervene.

"Yer doin' it wrong," Washijo told Hyakuzawa, not unkindly. He adjusted Hyakuzawa's arms. "Yer shoulders are too tense, and you gotta face yer body to the hitter when you receive."

It wasn't like Washijo was purposefully being cruel, but Goshiki knew how embarrassed the giant had to be. Born with the height and the strength, many of the boys here had probably expected Hyakuzawa to be leaps and bounds ahead of them. But Hyakuzawa was little more than a beginner—a fledgling that just happened to be born with bigger wings and longer legs.

His prediction was proved right when he caught some of the conversation between two passing ball boys.

"Geez, that Goliath is freakin' _huge_!"

"I wonder what the world looks like from six and a half feet high. He gets to start the game from a totally different place than us."

They wrapped up passing drills soon after, moving onto spiking. It was here Goshiki got to show off, and he couldn't help the smug smile that bloomed on his face after hitting one of his super sharp cross-shots.

"It's easier for me to hit if you put the ball up right close to the antenna," he advised Koganegawa.

Koganegawa saluted. "Roger!"

The next time he hit another one of Koganegawa's sets, it was perfect.

Before he knew it, the first day of camp was over, and the boys were all gathered outside the school, waiting for their parents to pick them up or just talking among themselves, their buses yet to arrive. Eagerly, Koganegawa made himself known to all of them by waving his flip phone in their faces and demanding their number.

"No thanks." Kunimi power-walked in a random direction just as Koganegawa opened his mouth—Tsukishima was not far behind him.

Kindaichi wasn't as blatant with his rejection. "Ah... Maybe next time... I'm running late for dinner."

"My mom says not to talk to strangers." Yura tried to bluff his way out using his age, scratching his cheek sheepishly.

"I'm not a stranger!" Koganegawa protested, dejected.

 _This totally looks like a kidnapping from here,_ Goshiki thought as he observed Yura try to shuffle away from Koganegawa.

"I don't have a phone," said Hyakuzawa when it was his turn. Whether or not this was true, Goshiki didn't know, but the giant seemed sincere enough for Koganegawa to nod understandingly.

"What about you?" Goshiki was next on Koganegawa's list. Earnestly, the Dateko boy held his phone out to Goshiki. "Wanna stay in touch?"

"Eh..." Though he didn't show it, Goshiki didn't think Koganegawa was _so_ bad. A little bad at reading the atmosphere, yes, but he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. It was hard to come by people like Koganegawa—Goshiki was surrounded every day by ice-cold and unreadable upperclassmen. Having someone who was an open book to talk to would be a nice change from the usual. "Alright, fine." For reasons he couldn't even place himself, Goshiki huffed, making a fuss out of the whole thing. "But don't call. Just text."

Koganegawa looked at him with round eyes. "Not even on weekends?"

"Wha?" Goshiki ogled him. "What do weekends have to do with anything?"

"No homework!"

"That's a lie if I've ever heard one!"

"Ah, seriously," Kunimi complained abruptly, checking his phone. "I just got a text from Myako Bus. The bus is broken down and won't be coming anytime soon."

"You're subscribed to Myako Bus?" Kindaichi asked, blinking in surprise.

"Yeah. What of it?" Kunimi lifted his phone to his ear. "I'm calling my mom. She'll pick you up, too, Kindaichi."

"Thanks, man."

The sun was setting in the distance, and Goshiki frowned. _The bus broke down? Goddammit..._ That would mean he would have to walk. A part of him wanted to ask Kunimi if his mom would let him tag along, but there were some issues with that. First of all, he wasn't even sure if he lived in the same area as them, and he definitely wasn't going to ask. Not only were they rivals, but they were little more than strangers, too. The second reason was that neither Kindaichi or Kunimi were especially social—in fact, Goshiki thought, they seemed rather haggard and fatigued. Not from the exercise, but from...

_Ah._

_I get it._

It was really best for him not to intrude.

A car rolled up, and an older boy stepped out. "Kei! Over here!"

Tsukishima's face soured like he had smelled sewerage.

"How was camp, Kei?" Tsukishima's brother could be heard asking as he got back into the driver's seat, Tsukishima slamming the door of the passenger seat after getting in.

One by one, they disappeared. After Tsukishima and his older brother left, Yura's mom came to pick her son up. Kindaichi and Kunimi were picked up as well by the latter's mother, and Hyakuzawa decided that he would walk to the train station—the opposite direction to where Goshiki's house was.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Hyakuzawa said politely.

Goshiki raised a hand in farewell. "Yeah, see ya."

"It's just you and me then," Koganegawa said, smiling.

"I should probably start heading home, too," Goshiki replied. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm waiting for the bus! Maybe I'll have to wait an hour or two, but it beats walking home."

"Suit yourself. I'm outta here. Night, Kogane-san."

"Goodnight, Goshiki-san!"

And so Goshiki began his journey home. The walk would be around forty minutes to an hour, depending on his walking speed, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Today had been a good day as far as good days went. New friends and opportunities were on the horizon. He had gotten to see Ushijima and the other third years play without the burden of winning on their shoulders, though they had left early for their barbecue. It was here, along a lonely mountain road, that Goshiki thought to check his phone. He smiled at the photos Yamagata had posted on Picstagram—a picture of Semi with black permanent marker scrawled on his sleeping face and another one of Yamagata and Semi together in town. The barbecue shop was visible in the backdrop.

Goshiki glanced up, looking at the winding road that lay ahead of him. He breathed out, staring into the distance. The stars were already out, and the sky was slowly fading into darkness.

Just like that, his first year of high school was almost over. It had been a year of many victories, but also more defeats than he would've liked.

 _I'll fix that,_ he promised himself, shoving his phone back into his bag. _I'll become an ace... that my teammates can rely on._

Gradually, he began walk faster. His walk soon transformed into a leisurely jog, though he didn't go further than that. He didn't like running in the cold—it made his lungs feel like icicles were forming inside the delicate creases. But warmth bloomed within him when he thought of them—thought of his teammates and the things that would await him back at school tomorrow.

An English mock exam. PE class. Training camp.

He grinned. _Training camp._

As fate would have it, his phone buzzed.

It was a text from Koganegawa.

 **[Koganegawa Kanji (Date Tech setter)]:** Hey! You home yet? :3

Goshiki began to type a response.

The left side of the road dropped off to a steep cliff blocked off by a guardrail. Stopping to stretch for a brief moment, Goshiki glanced to the right side of the road, where the woodland was thicker.

As he crossed, still typing, gravel crunched beneath his shoe.

_Lights._

He looked up.

They crawled across his skin and shone into his eyes.

And a haggard face, lined with age and stress and terror; a disembodied head floating in a ripple of gold.

 _Wait_ , Goshiki wanted to say, his phone slipping from his hands. _Wait!_

The car sent him skidding across the road.

* * *

**May 8th, 2018**

"I tried so _hard_."

Behind his back, the ropes fell from Sakusa's wrists.

"I tried so fucking _hard_ to get my life back together. I guess I was too arrogant, thinking that hard work would always be rewarded. That hard work would always get you somewhere in life as long as you never gave up. What a load of _bull_."

There were many things to be said. But with the wind roaring around his ears, Sakusa didn't know if the words would reach him or simply fly away.

"So, please." Shō, who had been listening quietly, stirred at Goshiki's plead. His glasses were askew, and a strand of hair curled at his forehead, his salt-and-pepper locks starting to loosen beneath the grip of hair gel. "Just tell me. _How_. _Why_. Tell me it isn't so... Tell me that I meant more to you than that! Come on...! Don't I at least... deserve to know?"

Closure. Peace of mind. Privileges that weren't granted to everyone. Some people would spend the rest of their lives chasing their own details in a futile search for these things—things held back by those who lied and blamed others. Sakusa dropped his gaze, his hair a mess from the wind.

_"My father does not owe your family justice!"_

Six years later, it still burned like ice in his veins.

"Should I just stay quiet, then?" Goshiki wondered. "For the rest of my life?"

"No!" The words came out fiercer than expected. "Scream, if you must. Scream, shout, throw a tantrum on the floor. I don't expect you to keep your head down and stay quiet." Sakusa looked up. "You're right—it isn't _fair_. We live in an unfair world. But the _moment_ you kill him," his lip curled in a grimace, "You're taking the very thing you want so badly away from the victims' families."

"You... think I'm gonna kill him?"

"You're prepared to. I know why you brought us up here. So you two can have your last words, and so I can make sure the name _Shō Shinya_ is reviled for the rest of Japanese history."

Goshiki smiled bitterly. "I won't lie, then. The thought crossed my mind more than once. Even now... I'm still deciding."

Pressed against one another, Sakusa could feel Shō's arm twitch against him. Probably from the drugs. If Goshiki had given him any more, he probably would be dead by now. Out of Goshiki's sight, Sakusa scribbled on the back of Shō's palm.

_Stall him. Beg, if you have to. Stay quiet and you'll die by his hand._

The old man tensed.

"Goshiki-san," Shō began, stilted. "Please, reconsider. I'm _begging_ you. I know what I am. I'm a murderer. A liar. A sinner. I'm selfish and I'm the lowest of society. But please... Spare me. If not for my own life, than for the life of my family. Akari... She's still waiting for me to come back home. And Noriko... I know she's been protecting me. I know I can still fix things with her. So, please... Don't make yourself the bad guy. I've dug my own grave, but don't fall in with me."

"I said it's fine!" Goshiki shouted, tears welling up in his eyes. "I don't _care_ if I'm the bad guy! I don't _care_ if I'm the villain! At least justice is gonna be served! Besides, why should I care about _your_ family?! It's not like you ever cared about mine! Or—or _Oikawa's!_ Or _Kageyama's!_ Or even your own! Your sick, stupid pretend family...! In the end, you're just a selfish bastard who doesn't care about what happens to other people! Maybe I'm the bad guy today, but at least I'm not your kind of bad! Because I _know_ I'm right!"

Shō exhaled. "So did I. But you're better than me."

"What about you, Goshiki?" Sakusa challenged, a quiet steel in his voice. "Can you honestly say that you care about their families? Oikawa's family? They had to bury their child, thinking it was a childhood friendship that had ruined them. And what about Kageyama's family? Her mother? She lives alone, you know. By now, she should know that her daughter is dead. The only thing these people have left is the belief that their murderer will face punishment. And he will. But not if you do this. Goshiki..."

"But you said I was a bad guy," accused Goshiki, choking on a sob.

Sakusa shook his head, using one hand to fiddle with the rope around Shō's wrists. "I never said that. I know you're not a bad guy, Goshiki. Because if you were, we'd both be dead. But know that if you choose to go through with this, you'll be remembered as a villain. Maybe society would consider you a martyr, but to Oikawa and Kageyama... You would be the smallest step above _him_." He spat the last word, disdain lacing his tone. "To their families... You really would be a bad guy."

He could see it. Could see the moment Goshiki's face fell—the moment he wavered, lowering his gun.

Without wasting a second, he jumped to his feet—still tied to the ground—and knocked Goshiki to the ground, the shotgun and phone flying out of his hands and skidding across the rooftop.

Shō was horrified, frantically shaking his binds off and moving onto the ones on his feet. "Prosecutor!"

"Get away from me!" Goshiki screeched, kicking at Sakusa. His foot made impact with his chest, and Sakusa stumbled, feeling the effects of the drugs bogging him down.

He gritted his teeth. _The ropes!_ They were tighter than expected.

Sakusa had just finished freeing himself when Goshiki snatched the gun from the floor and pointed it at the both of them.

"Neither of you move a muscle!" he yelled. "I'll shoot! I will! I swear to god, I will!"

 _Fuck!_ Sakusa narrowed his eyes, lifting his arms up in surrender. "Goshiki," he began warningly.

"No! _Do. Not_. Do this to me. Don't take away the only thing I've ever wanted out of this _miserable_ life since high school. No." He howled a laugh. "It ends today. It ends here. It ends _now_."

A loud bang cracked through the air, and three pairs of eyes turned to where Kindaichi had kicked the door to the rooftop open, panting as if he had just run a marathon. Kindaichi took a deep breath. Then he let out, _"GOSHIKIIIII!"_

Daichi followed him in, his gun drawn and pointed at Goshiki. "Stand down."

"Kindaichi." Goshiki gulped. "I thought I told you not to follow me."

"And you expected me to listen?!" Kindaichi retorted. "'Shiki—'Shiki, you gotta listen to me. This... This isn't worth it! And I... I can _prove_ it to you! If you'd just _let_ me."

"Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do that?"

"I'll find a way," insisted Kindaichi. "I won't rest until I do."

"Sorry." Goshiki started to turn back. "But I've made up my mind."

"Goshiki!"

He raised the gun.

* * *

"Out of the way! Get the _fuck_ out of my way!"

Shirabu stumbled off the bike, Obata's only mode of transportation wobbling before falling to its side. Kunimi righted it, eyes wide as he witnessed Shirabu bludgeon his way through the press and the unsuspecting emergency personnel.

"You can't be here," an officer started.

"Yes, I can!" Shirabu flashed his ID, which denoted him as a civil servant of the law.

"Sir, you're still not authorized—!"

"Fuck that!" With an impressive display of strength, Shirabu shoved past him and clawed his way through the remaining policemen. For Kunimi, it was like watching a tank crush a meadow beneath its might. "Goshiki!" Shirabu kept shouting, head tilted up to face skyward. _"Goshiki!"_

Desperately, he looked around. Midorima was nodding to Superintendent Keishi, and Shirabu was close enough to hear what the Chief Prosecutor had to say.

"It's time. Send the men in. Secure, but don't scare, the residents, and take down the shooter."

"Take down?!" Shirabu echoed, barging his way between Keishi, Sergeant Chigusa, and Midorima. "What the hell does that mean?!"

"Hey!" One of Midorima's bodyguards wrapped a meaty hand around Shirabu's bicep, effectively halting the man. "Get away from him!" Almost effortlessly, he held back Shirabu, who was thrashing against him violently.

Coldly, Midorima gazed upon Shirabu, still fruitlessly fighting against a greater force of strength. "It's exactly what you think it means."

"Let me talk to him!" demanded Shirabu. "Just let me talk to him!"

"Enough. Take him away."

"You bastard! You fucking bastard! Hey! Hey!" He kicked at the bodyguard's shin, but Midorima was growing smaller and smaller as Shirabu was dragged away. "Let go of me! Get your fucking hands of of him, you slimy scumbag! Goshiki...! _GOSHIKI!_ "

* * *

_No. It can't end like this. I won't let it!_ Kindaichi's chest heaved as he was met with the sight of Sakusa and Shō at Goshiki's mercy. Inhaling, he bellowed, _"GOSHIKIIIII!"_

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Daichi emerged with his gun pointed at Goshiki. "Stand down."

"Kindaichi." His voice sounded so, so hollow. It hurt like a glass shard cutting into his heart. "I thought I told you not to follow me."

Kindaichi swallowed a lump in his throat. "And you expected me to listen?! 'Shiki—'Shiki, you gotta listen to me. This... This isn't worth it! And I... I can _prove_ it to you! If you'd just _let_ me." _Please. Please, 'Shiki, I'm begging you. Don't throw it all away like this._

"Oh yeah?" The smallest smile appeared on Goshiki's mien, and it was all nostalgia. "And how are you gonna do that?"

"I'll find a way," Kindaichi told him. "I won't rest until I do." And it was a _promise_.

His heart dropped to his stomach when Goshiki turned away. "Sorry. But I've made up my mind."

 _No... No!_ "Goshiki!"

Goshiki raised his gun.

"We'll fix it!" pleaded Kindaichi, stepping forward.

"Kindaichi," warned Daichi. "Stop. Do not approach him."

Against his better wishes, he complied. "We'll fix it," he repeated, the tiniest hope blooming in his chest when Goshiki didn't fire. "We'll fix it okay? We'll fix everything! We'll... We'll bring him to justice, and he'll rot away for the rest of his life in prison! And... If it makes you happy, we'll watch his execution."

"Thank you, Kindaichi." Goshiki didn't turn around again. "But it's too late. Nothing... Nothing can be fixed. Nothing can ever be the same as it was before."

His heart twisted. "'Shiki..."

Daichi's finger tightened on the trigger. "This is your last warning. Stand down, _now_."

Kindaichi's ears pricked at the sound of military boots ascending the stairs behind them at an impossibly fast pace. He whipped around, gasping softly when an entire team of military police burst through the door and fanned out around them, all of them aiming their guns at Goshiki's lone figure.

"We'll take it over from here," one of them said to Daichi, who nodded but didn't lower his pistol.

"It's over, Goshiki Tsutomu-san," the Squad Leader announced. "Put down the gun, or there'll be serious consequences. Not even God will save you from them."

"Save?" Goshiki scoffed. "I'm not looking to be saved."

"Hm, I see. Squad—don't shoot."

"Squad Leader! What are you doing?" a younger man cried. "Our orders from the superintendent were to shoot to kill!"

"Heh." The Squad Leader smirked. "I've known Keishi since our academy days. He was my mentor. Between the lines, he said to me... What he _really_ meant... was 'kill as a last resort'. Now, Goshiki-san. Don't make me take that last resort. Put. The gun. Down."

There was a war drum pounding in Kindaichi's chest. It was hurting and terrified and he wanted nothing more than to embrace Goshiki so that the harsh winds of the world would no longer cut him.

Goshiki lowered the gun.

"Good," Squad Leader praised. "Now, Shō-san, right? Come here. Goshiki-san, stay where you are." With one quick hand gesture, the team began approaching Goshiki gradually from all sides. One of the men rushed in quicker than the others to secure Shō, dragging him aside. "And you, Sakusa-san—"

Before any of them could even blink, Goshiki lifted the gun again, finger squeezing the trigger and barrel pointed right at Shō.

"NO!" Sakusa shoved him just as an explosive bang echoing through the air.

Shō closed his eyes.

And Kindaichi toppled backward from the impact of the bullet, eyes round with shock as the world turned upside down. His shoulder _burned_ , and the sky shook for the briefest moment as his mind stuttered to a halt and his head hit the ground.

The last thing he saw was the sunset.

* * *

There was no time for Sakusa to even process that his former apprentice—his _friend_ —had been shot, voices rising all around him. The recoil sent them both stumbling backward, Goshiki tipping dangerously over the rail. Shouting something indecipherable even to himself, Sakusa saved him from gravity, his hand clenching around the front of Goshiki's hoodie.

"You...!" Sakusa choked out. "Fuck, hang on." Why wasn't he pushing himself forward? He cursed himself. If only he weren't so _weak_ right now, his muscles still aching from the scuffle they'd had before. "Work with me here. _Goshiki!_ "

Goshiki's hand came down on his wrist, gently pushing him away. "No. I've made my choice."

"He would have helped you," Sakusa blurted out, his words merging altogether in a last attempt, a last fight for justice. "He would have helped you—!"

"I know. But I can't be helped."

"Then why drag him into all of this?!"

Goshiki smiled. "I guess... I just wanted to see one last friendly face. Someone who wouldn't judge me, who wouldn't look at me different."

"Sakusa!" Daichi was calling. If he said anything after that, Sakusa didn't hear it.

"Goshiki, you—"

In the slightest instance, Goshiki's power was greater than his in one final push.

His eyes widened as the fabric slipped from his fingers, and Goshiki—

Goshiki fell.

* * *

Shirabu snatched his arm away from Midorima's bodyguard, snarling and spitting at the man. All the way at the very back of the crowd, with Kunimi and the press, he gazed up at the top of the building.

_Where are they?_

Against the fevered sky, a fragile black shape descended from the top.

_Ah._

Goshiki. His annoying underclassman who had been a thorn in his side during their years together in high school. Who had tackled volleyball with an energy and passion that had both irritated and impressed him. Who life had been too, too cruel to, who _he_ had been too, too cruel to.

And Shirabu _screamed_ until he was hoarse.

_"GOSHIKIII!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ...
> 
> This might be a bit confusing with all the jumping around, but I promise you it'll tie together. Goshiki's backstory isn't over yet, and we'll get to see it continue later from Shirabu's (and some of Kunimi's) POV.
> 
> This is the end of this section, ig.
> 
> Next time on Shard Society: Kindaichi's memories unlocked, Sakusa's backstory and reevaluating his decisions with Atsumu, Daichi thinking about the future of his career, the proper introduction of Shiroma Yubin, the entrance of Superintendent Ishigami 'Annoying Arsonist' Yua, and mostly relationship development from here on out.
> 
> For now, I'm taking a break from writing. It could be long or short, but uni work and actual work calls, and I must answer.
> 
> Before I go, though, I want to thank you all for supporting me for so long. Every comment, kudos, bookmark, and share (whether it be on Twitter, Insta, or Tumblr or anywhere else) goes a long way and means a lot to me. Without you guys, I'm not quite sure if I'd have made it this far.
> 
> We are nearing the conclusion of Shard Society, with only the resolution arc of the story to go. I hope you've enjoyed reading so far.
> 
> Also, on a side not, I got fanart! I'm honestly overjoyed at it, even though it was from my old (and cringy) fanfic from back in 2016/17: Kindergarten Bully. It's where Naoko first featured in one of my works (as Oikawa's love interest), and the lovely @WyrmWaker on Wattpad made this amazing piece! It's here: [naoko and oikawa :')](https://imgur.com/a/qkBNlwy)!


	34. Rippling Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindaichi awakes. In the midst of chaos, he and Kunimi begin to mend their relationship. Naoko's gaydar pings during an encounter at the hospital.

It was like being suspended in space. All around him, he could only see darkness, drifting in a warm haze. But his heart still beat and his blood still flowed, and Kindaichi opened his eyes to see a familiar scene; a room formed before him, all walls but no roof or floor.

 _"Calm down!"_ Kunimi was screaming, cheeks still supple with youth and jaw not as defined. _"Kindaichi—!"_ He sobbed, hiccuping. _"Kindaichi—God, Kindaichi, you need to calm down. Stop! STOP!"_

_Kunimi..._

There was the sound of something shattering—a vase, maybe.

 _Kunimi_ , he tried to call out. _Kunimi, are you okay?_ But his voice was trapped in his throat.

_"KINDAICHI!"_

Flesh tore beneath his teeth.

_What's happening? Kunimi? Kunimi! Kunimi! Akira...!_

_"I SAID STOP!"_

The universe lurched, and Kindaichi plummeted like a puppet with its strings cut.

* * *

**May 12th, 2018**

Blearily, Kindaichi's eyelids fluttered, and the hospital lights greeted him, glaringly bright. _What the...? Where am I? The... The hospital? Wait...!_

A voice probed tentatively. "Kindaichi?"

His mouth was dry, and Kindaichi had to smack his lips a few times before replying, hoarsely, "Y-yeah?" He tried to sit up, but white hot pain seared through his body, and he winced, his arms buckling beneath his weight.

"Don't," the voice said just as Kindaichi's eyes began to adjust to the light. He blinked a few times before Sakusa finally appeared before him.

The man looked _terrible_. It was as if he had not slept for several nights, dark circles beneath his eyes. Even his dress was not as impeccable as it usually was, wearing a grey t-shirt and pants. Sakusa stared at him, an openness to his gaze that Kindaichi was not used to seeing. It occurred to him, then, that this was the first time he had ever witnessed the stark vulnerability of a man he had thought unshakable.

Everything hit him at once then, and he could only slump, defeated. "The... The rooftop." He peered up at Sakusa. "Goshiki! He... He... Where is he? Is he okay? Argh!" He hissed as he jostled his wound again, wondering where on earth the pain was coming from. All he knew was that the wound was somewhere on his left side.

Sakusa couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, Kindaichi."

"You..." Kindaichi's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. "Oh... Oh my god... No... Sakusa...! Sakusa, you can't be serious, you can't be—argh!" His shoulder throbbed, but he felt absolutely _sick_. "Why? Why did he do this? Why?!" The back of his eyes stung and he reached up with his right hand to rub them. "Sakusa... Sakusa, please... Tell me that he's okay. Tell me that he's okay—that he's in jail and being questioned and maybe he's still angry and afraid, but tell me that he's still okay. That he's _going_ to be okay. Please. _Please_."

Sakusa said nothing.

The first sob came as a hiccup that nearly choked him. Unabashedly, he leaned back in his bed and cried. Snot dribbled from his nose as he sniffled and whimpered, a keening noise coming from the back of his throat. It was ugly and messy, but Sakusa said not a word, simply staring at the Kindaichi's blanket with faraway eyes.

It was too much. _Everything_ was too much.

"He didn't need to die," Kindaichi blubbered, the sleeve of his hospital gown soaked with tears and snot. "He didn't need to—he didn't, he didn't! He was my age, he was twenty-one _fucking_ years old. He had his whole _life_ ahead of him. 'Shiki... _Goshiki!_ Sakusa...!"

Sakusa finally glanced up, exhaustion lining his features.

"Why did he die? Didn't... Didn't enough people already die?" His bottom lip wobbled. "Haven't enough people suffered?! Haven't enough people died?! Haven't enough people gotten hurt?! So why...?! Why?!"

Once again, no words ever escaped from Sakusa's lips. No blunt opinions or hard-hitting truths ever came, and Kindaichi realized it was because—for the first time since he had met the man—Sakusa was at a loss for words. There was nothing he could say or do. He was _helpless_.

They both were.

So Kindaichi cried. He cried freely and openly, tears pooling at his chin and dripping down his neck. It was like a blanket of ice had draped itself over the world, and there was nothing—not even a candle—that could return to him the warmth he had once encased himself in. Because no matter how hard he wished or pleaded or begged, nothing would ever be the same ever again. He would never again see Goshiki's smile, or hear his laugh, or tease him for his indecisiveness, or taste his wonderful, wonderful cooking.

"It's not _fair_ ," he whispered, clutching the blanket tightly, shoulders trembling. "It's not fair!"

"I know," Sakusa said. "It isn't."

"How..." Kindaichi's throat bobbed. "How could things have gotten this bad?"

The answer he sought was one neither of them could have provided.

Slowly, Kindaichi's crying reduced into tired sniffles. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his nose slick with snot. Wordlessly, Sakusa passed him a tissue box, and Kindaichi grabbed a fistful of tissues.

"I'll get the doctor," Sakusa offered, Kindaichi nodding. "Tell him that you've woken up. I won't be long."

"Okay," rasped Kindaichi, sniffing heavily. "T-thanks..."

Sakusa disappeared out the door, and Kindaichi sunk further into his pillow.

_Goshiki..._

* * *

Kunimi Akira walked through the halls of Saiseikai Central Hospital, stopping in front of a directory. Slung over one shoulder was a canvas bag filled with miscellaneous items—including freshly-made grilled corn, charred exactly to Kindaichi's liking. According to the sign, the Trauma Ward was on a higher floor.

_And I'm in..._

He saw the highlighted bracket.

"Pediatrics, huh?" he read aloud, humming. The last time he had come to here to visit Kindaichi, he had come through a different entrance. _So... I'll need to go up a couple of levels._

"You looking for something?"

Kunimi whipped around to face whoever had spoken. "No, I'm good..." His brow rose. "Shiroma...?"

The sly lavender eyes of Kitagawa Daiichi's former mean girl met his, and a sword-slash grin appeared on her face. "No way! Kunimi, right? And you remember me? This is crazy. Should I be flattered?"

 _Yeah, I remember you alright._ Shiroma Yubin. She was a hard person to forget, even if Kunimi wanted to. He had nothing but bad memories associated with her anyway, and it astounded him that—if her outfit was any indication—she had become a nurse. A nurse for _children_ , no less. Her long silver hair was packed into a tight bun that covered her nape, giving her a matronly look that didn't suit her at all. "Yeah," he answered blandly. "I'm more surprised you remember me, to be honest."

"Oh, come on now." It was only here Kunimi realized he had been walking alongside her. "How could I forget? My friends rated you as the fifth cutest guy in our grade back in Kitaichi."

"Wonderful."

Shiroma halted. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Kunimi slowed to a stop, too, turning around. "Why?"

"You're here to visit someone," deducted Shiroma, crossing her arms. Kunimi could see the remnants of nail polish on her fingernails, which were cut short and blunt to suit her work. "Obviously. So, are you okay?"

"I'm asking you why you care," Kunimi clarified, frowning. "It's not like we were ever friends." Because Shiroma didn't have friends. All she had ever done was _use_ people. _What if she's changed, though? Hm. Unlikely. People who don't realize that they do wrong are less likely to change._

"You're right," Shiroma agreed. "We weren't. But... We knew each other once, didn't we? A lot of sad and bad things happened when we were kids." Kunimi tensed. "You should know better than I do about it. So I just thought I'd check in on you a little." She smiled. "My break's about to start, actually. Why don't we sit down and chat for a bit?"

 _It's fine_ , Kunimi intended to say. _You don't have to_. "Sure." _Why did I say that?_ he asked himself as he followed Shiroma down the hall and into a break area with some tables and two vending machines—one for snacks and the other for drinks.

"You know," Shiroma said casually, fetching two cans of iced coffee from the vending machine. "I didn't expect you to actually agree."

"I think," Kunimi admitted as they sat down opposite one another, placing his bag of grilled corn on the empty chair at their table, "That I just have a lot to get off my chest. I know talking about it always helps, but..."

"You've had nobody to talk to," concluded Shiroma. She cracked open her can of coffee.

Kunimi scowled. "When you put it like that—"

"Relax. I'm not here to judge."

It sounded vile coming from her mouth.

He sagged. "Right..."

"So," Shiroma said after taking a sip of her beverage, "How have you been?"

"I'm finishing my last year of uni," Kunimi told her, opening his own drink.

"Really? What are you studying?"

"Psychology."

"Cool, but... Besides that, how have _you_ been?"

The question gave him pause. It unnerved him, actually, that a proper response would not come to mind. How _had_ he been? He'd been running around, trying to solve things by himself, because he didn't want to bother Kindaichi with those burdens. Reluctantly, he said as much, and Shiroma tilted her head.

"Isn't it hard? Carrying the weight of others on your shoulders?"

"It's bearable."

"How long have you been doing this?"

 _Since as long as I remember._ Kunimi held his tongue, not quite ready to impart this knowledge to Shiroma. "Why does it matter?"

She ignored his question and asked him one in return, "How do you feel, then?"

"What?"

"You heard me. How do you feel? Tired? Afraid?"

Kunimi dropped his gaze. "And if I do?"

"How you feel is very important," Shiroma said sternly, steepling her fingers. "I know what you're thinking. That I must be some kind of hypocritical joker for saying this. But I'm not the same little girl I was back then. You don't have to trust me—hell, you don't even have to tell me what's going on in your head. But at least give yourself some room to breathe. There's no shame in leaning on others, especially when you want them to lean on you."

 _Leaning on others, huh?_ There was the shadow of a smile on his lips. _Considering how everything's blown up in my face so far... Maybe she has a point._ "Why are you telling me this?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"We're not friends," Kunimi stated, blunt and to the point. "Maybe we were classmates once, but now we're just strangers. And I know you think the same. So why?"

"Hmm..." Shiroma thought hard about it, her brow creasing, and it occurred to Kunimi that maybe—just maybe—she was just as out of her depth as he was. She was just better at hiding it behind a mask of peppiness. "Do you remember that day?" she replied eventually. "The third year graduation trip in middle school. We went to that miserable beach."

Kunimi did, as a matter of fact. Kindaichi had gotten stuck in a sand trap some other kids had buried. The memory of his best friend's head sticking out of the sand had him stifling another smile. "What about it?"

"The last night there," Shiroma fiddled with her can of coffee, "We all roasted marshmallows over a bonfire. The teachers made barbecue, and... Kageyama Tobio sat all by himself."

 _Kageyama?_ Why had she brought up Kageyama?

"You asked me why I'm suddenly saying all these things," she went on, looking up to meet his questioning gaze, "And it's because I have a lot of regrets. And Kageyama was the centre of all of it. I was a biggest spider in the web back then and the kid was a fly in comparison. Isn't that sad? I bet he was lonely. I bet he was sad. But no one cared, because he was just a fly. The rumors and the volleyball team got more and more distant... In the end, what happened to you guys wasn't really anyone's fault, I should add. We were all angry, confused, and trying to keep our faces smiling and our emotions in check." She sighed. "We were dumb kids. But it doesn't change the fact that... One of us was hurting badly. I'm quite good at reading people, you know. Even from afar, it was clear to me that Kageyama was going through a hard time. I didn't do anything back then, so now... I guess I'm trying to atone a little for the way I acted in the past. All the rumors I spread, all the mean words I said... About you, about your team, about Kageyama, about my own friends, underclassmen, kids from other schools..." Shiroma shook her head. "I didn't realize words could do so much damage. I know better now. So here we are." The woman checked her phone before quickly chugging down the rest of her coffee and standing up and excusing herself. "I should get going now. Break's over in five. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Kunimi couldn't even get a word in as she hurried off, though he wasn't sure if he could have even summoned the ability to speak after hearing what she had to say. He simply sat there, mulling over her confession in a perturbed silence.

It was now that it was more important than ever—taking care of himself and the people he cherished and loved. The last couple of days had been hell. After Goshiki had died and Kindaichi had been hospitalized, he hadn't even had the energy to get out of bed. It was only after Kuroo had intervened—dragging him kicking and screaming off of his mattress—that he had managed to regain some of his bearings.

But even now he could feel his bones shaking from the impact. It sent goosebumps rippling up and down his flesh, and dried up the moisture in his mouth.

After all that had happened, he knew he needed to hold them close.

He felt strange standing up. Perhaps it was because his stomach was empty. Kuroo had forced him to eat a blueberry muffin for breakfast, but that had been it. It was almost midday now.

Before he knew it, Kunimi was standing in front of Kindaichi's room. He had visited yesterday, and the day before, but it was oddly intimidating each time.

"Kunimi-san?"

He turned. "Sakusa-san?"

The prosecutor was stalking toward him with a male doctor, the latter wasting no time opening the door and greeting Kindaichi. Kunimi's eyes widened at the interaction, and he looked to Sakusa. "He's awake?"

"He woke up ten minutes ago," explained Sakusa.

Kunimi inhaled deeply. "I see." He breathed out a stuttering sigh of relief. "Thank _god_."

They had never really spoken before. In fact, it was their first time crossing paths. Neither of them spoke as they followed the doctor into the room, Sakusa closing the door behind them with the heel of his shoe. As the doctor examined him and elaborated on his presence here, Kunimi sneaked a glance at Sakusa, who seemed rather impassive to the whole scene.

But Kunimi knew better.

He looked away.

"Have the police spoken to you yet?" Sakusa asked, voice low.

"No," said Kunimi. "I did get a text from Prosecutor Chinen though. A summon to the station later today."

"Chinen..." Sakusa hummed. "That's good. She's a fair woman." He gave Kunimi a look. "Things are in shambles at the prosecutor's office at the moment. You'll have to forgive her if she gets impatient with you."

Kunimi chuckled mirthlessly. "I can imagine."

Social media and every big news outlet in Japan had been blowing up since last Tuesday. It had been one spectacle after another—Goshiki's plunge, Kindaichi's heroic efforts, reporters clambering over themselves to interview the four hostages, rumors implicating Shō as a murderer, and—the cherry on top—the indefinite removal of the Prosecutor-General from office among whispers of corruption. The previous Prosecutor-General had been called out of retirement to act as a stand-in for now.

"At least people seem to love Kindaichi," he muttered, Sakusa letting out a small scoff.

Tweeter and Picstagram had hailed him a hero. Elementary school kids were wearing collectible hats meant to mimic Kindaichi's hair during his younger days after his high school photos had been leaked by some anonymous, clout-chasing Aobajosai graduate. _#HeroManKindaichi_ was trending in not only Japan, but all across Asia. The last thing Kunimi had read about his friend's popularity was talk of producing a Webflix series.

 _And the funniest thing is..._ Kunimi watched as the doctor exchanged a couple more words with Kindaichi before leaving with the promise of a nurse bringing him food very soon. _He has no idea_.

"I think I'll leave, too," Sakusa said abruptly. "You're his best friend. You should get to talk to him first."

"Ah, yeah, thanks..."

Pushing Sakusa's odd behavior aside, Kunimi let his bag slip down his arm as he took a seat next to Kindaichi's bedside. His gut clenched when he saw the vacancy in Kindaichi's gaze, and he instinctively reached out to clutch Kindaichi's hand. "Hey," he said softly. "Kindaichi, hey. I'm here now. I brought your favorite. Grilled corn. With lots of butter."

Kindaichi's eyes were swollen. He'd been crying. "Kunimi," he croaked, turning his head slowly to face him.

 _Shit, what am I even supposed to say?_ Kunimi chewed on the inside on his cheek.

"You don't have to say anything," Kindaichi told him, and Kunimi wondered if he had read his mind. "Just... Stay. Please."

"Of course," agreed Kunimi. "Of course I will." It wasn't even an option to leave him here.

It occurred to him that the grilled corn was probably cold by now, but he didn't let go of Kindaichi's hand.

All he needed was to be there for him.

Kunimi bowed his head, squeezing Kindaichi's fingers.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Kindaichi suddenly said, "It's just like that night again."

Everything.

Kindaichi remembered everything.

"I'm sorry." Kunimi's shoulders began to shake. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Sakusa sighed, rubbing his cheek, a spot where his mask didn't cover. It had been a long four days, and an even longer three nights. None of which he had gotten proper sleep. He had seen a corpse in the mirror this morning. He looked like _shit_ , and he felt like it, too.

Footfall reached his ears and he stilled before turning around.

Goshiki's outstretched hand.

Sakusa flinched.

"Prosecutor?"

A blink, and Atsumu and Naoko were staring at him, bemused.

"You good?" Atsumu asked. It was the first time Sakusa had seen him out of a hospital gown since he had saved him all those weeks ago. The uneasy knot that had formed in his chest eased somewhat, and he straightened.

"I'm fine," he brushed off Atsumu's concern, "You're already being discharged?"

"More like overstayed his welcome," Naoko interjected. "He should have been ready to leave since Thursday."

"How rude of ya, doctor," mumbled Atsumu. "But..." He let out an affected sigh, checking his phone. "Guess she has a point. Though it's not like I got anywhere else to go."

Sakusa raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I missed the rent, so I got kicked out. First thing on my agenda is finding somewhere to stay the night."

 _Kicked out? He has nowhere to go?_ He didn't know what was worse—the fact that it had happened or the fact that Atsumu didn't seem to be as bothered as he should have been. The blond was effectively homeless now.

"It's been worse," Atsumu was saying to Naoko when Sakusa snapped back to reality. "I'll just head down to the restaurant to collect my final payout and then find the nearest homeless shelter—"

"No."

They turned to him.

"No?" Atsumu uttered, blinking. "Whaddya mean _no_ —?"

"I'm not letting you stay at a _homeless shelter_ ," Sakusa said firmly. "Not only are you a key witness to a case, but..." He trailed off before clearing his throat. "Dirty," he said, pink dusting his cheeks, "Homeless shelters are dirty."

"They're really not that bad. Trust me, this ain't my first rodeo. Besides," Atsumu pointed out, "Where else would I sleep? The streets?" A snort. "I'd probably get shanked in the middle of the night."

The words were on the tip of his tongue, teetering between being swallowed back or exiting with many regrets. But, finally, Sakusa answered, "I have a guest room in my place. You can stay there for the meantime." _What the hell am I doing? Shit!_ The only guest he had ever allowed into his home was his _mother_. "If you want, that is" he tacked on woodenly. "If you find that you prefer the homeless shelter, then... I'm not stopping you."

Atsumu and Naoko exchanged a glance.

"I hope you realize how rare of an offer this is," Naoko told him.

"Hey, I'm not stoppin' to look a gift horse in the mouth." Atsumu grinned crookedly at Sakusa. "Lead the way, prosecutor."

"Please," Sakusa said. "Don't call me that. I'm off duty indefinitely." That decision had yet to be overturned by the acting Prosecutor-General, and he hated to admit that he was starting to get antsy.

"What should I call you then?" Atsumu hummed, frowning in contemplation. "Sakusa? Sakusa-san? What's your first name again?"

"Kiyoomi," supplied Naoko, meeting Sakusa's glare coolly.

"What a rich boy name," muttered Atsumu, nodding solemnly like he had just received the cure to cancer.

Sakusa's nostrils flared. "I'm _right_ here, Miya."

"Hey, hey. Just call me Atsumu, remember?"

"We're not close enough for that."

" _Ahem_." Naoko coughed into her fist. "Would you two like to leave or continue to inconvenience everyone by loitering in the hallway?"

"We aren't..." Sakusa pressed his lips into a thin line when he noticed the several nurses and patients giving them looks as they tried to skirt around them. "We're going," he said, tone clipped. "Come on, Mi— _Atsumu_." The name rolled off his tongue clumsily, like a fawn learning how to walk.

Atsumu walked too close beside him for comfort, but he couldn't find it in him to protest. For a moment, he wished that Atsumu was more like Kindaichi, who had always respected his personal space and boundaries. Sakusa side-eyed him. If Atsumu noticed his flinty gaze, he said not a word. He should have probably told him off, thought Sakusa, should have told him that there were going to be some ground rules if they were going to be living together—

"Pfft." Atsumu lifted a hand to his mouth, unable to hide a snicker.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "What."

"Aw, it's nothin'," Atsumu said, clearly lying.

But whatever Sakusa had been about to say to him had fizzled out in his brain. "... I see."

His monotonous response only made Atsumu's impish grin widen.

Sakusa sighed irritably. _"What?" If I'd known he was going to be like this, then I wouldn't have..._

" _You_. Ya know, all this time I thought you were some cool tough guy, but _man_ , I was so wrong." Atsumu chuckled. "You're just socially incompetent."

He narrowed his eyes. "I could say the same about _you_."

"I'm not as bad as _you_ , though," countered Atsumu. "What was that back there? Pure incompetency, Omi-Omi."

Sakusa almost tripped over his feet. " _What_ did you just call me?"

"Omi-Omi. Omi-kun. Anythin' that's not yer snotty first and last name. What—ya like it?"

Sakusa tilted his chin, giving Atsumu the most horrid look he could muster—an expression that fluctuated between thinly veiled disgust and wanton revulsion. "I take it back," he deadpanned, quickening his pace from languid to brisk, "You're fucking _incorrigible_. Have fun at the homeless shelter."

Atsumu's laugh sounded behind him and he pulled his mask higher up to hide how red he knew his face was. _Calm down,_ he scolded himself. _He's a temporary guest. That's all._

"So, new housemate," Atsumu sidled up next to him again, "Anythin' I should expect?"

"Rules," Sakusa said snippily. " _Lots_ of them."

He groaned. "I was hopin' ya wouldn't say that..."

"Should've hoped harder." Sakusa paused. "Or maybe not. It's not like it would've changed anything."

"Absolutely soul-crushing of you, Omi-kun."

_Omi-kun. Omi-Omi._

Nobody had ever called him such things before. Not even his mother, who loved him dearly in her own quiet way. He wasn't sure how exactly to feel about it, but it spread warmth throughout his body—a feeling he had not experienced since Goshiki's fingers slipped from his.

It still made his stomach turn.

"But seriously," Atsumu added after a beat. "Thanks."

Sakusa had a few responses to that. Most of them were sensible. It's _no problem. Make yourself at home. But not too at home. Stay as long as you like. But not too long. You'll have to help out with grocery shopping and do laundry and shower every night. Spraying deodorant on yourself does not count as a shower._ "Don't piss on the couch," he said instead, fighting the urge to palm his face as soon as the words tumbled out.

Luckily for him, Atsumu took it in stride, like he did most things. "No need to worry, Omi-kun," he winked, "And if I'm in need of house-training, I'll let you know."

 _What the fuck does that mean?_ Outwardly, he didn't react, his expression unchanging. "We're here," Sakusa announced when they arrived in front of his car.

Atsumu gave the car an appraising once-over. "Nice ride. Geez, this must've cost a fortune. Ya ain't called 'Kiyoomi' fer nothin'..."

"Shut it, Miya, and get in the car."

* * *

Was the nation in mourning? It was a question Kindaichi kept asking himself. It only made sense to him that it would be. A man had died, he wanted to say, so how can the world possibly continue? He glanced toward the window—the curtains were still drawn together, blocking his view of the city.

"Kindaichi?" Kunimi whispered, squeezing his hand.

"Do you think," said Kindaichi. "That people are stopping to pray?"

"What?"

"For Goshiki," Kindaichi clarified. "After all... He died like he did. Isn't... Isn't that worth sending something kind up there for him?" He knew that Kunimi was not superstitious. Kindaichi wasn't particularly partial to the supernatural and the idea of higher beings, either, but it was the only thought that could comfort him. Today, at this moment in time, Kindaichi would believe.

"Oh."

There was a pang in Kindaichi's heart. His fingers curled as he gripped the blanket on either side. He couldn't avoid it any longer. He had to know. "Kunimi... _Akira_..."

Kunimi stirred at the sound of his first name, and Kindaichi thought that he looked more innocent and bare than he remembered him being.

Was he ready? Ready to reveal all the secrets he had kept close to his chest? "Kunimi," Kindaichi started again, struggling to keep afloat, "Will you tell me everything? From the beginning. I want to know everything. Why you kept so much from me." Kunimi opened his mouth but Kindaichi wasn't done. "I'm not mad. To be honest... I know you always do what you think is best. But," he glanced at him, "You don't have to carry everything by yourself anymore. I'm strong enough to take it."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Kunimi said, "I've known he was unstable for a long time. The first time we met him, actually. We had too much to drink, and you and Yahaba both passed out on the couch. I did, too, but I woke up before you two. It was coincidence, actually. I needed to take a piss, and Goshiki was... He was coming out of the shower. I saw the leg on the laundry basket, I saw how the stump of his right leg ended just below his towel, and..."

"And what?" Kindaichi prompted, balking.

"He threatened to kill me. Grabbed me by the neck and slammed me into the wall and said he would kill me if I ever told anyone. So I didn't. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, but I knew that he was unhinged enough to follow through. It was the eyes." Kunimi swallowed a lump in his throats. "Those were the eyes... of someone who was going to kill me.

"The next day, he acted like nothing happened. I followed along. I _have_ been _for the last four years_." He bit his lip. "Whoever he was back when we knew him in high school, he definitely wasn't the same when we met him again. So I kept my distance. I'm sure you've noticed. I didn't try to hide it. And if..." He exhaled sharply. "If you think I'm gonna apologize for what I did or say something good about it on his behalf... You can forget about it. I haven't been studying psychology for the last four years just to gaslight myself. I've had nothing but bad experiences with him and I have no 'sorry' to say. Sorry that he's dead? Yeah. Sorry for what he did and how I responded to it? No."

 _Of course not_. Kindaichi would have never expected Kunimi to do that. It was just... Sickening. It just made everything more miserable than it already was. "I just wished I could've helped you," he said honestly.

"I couldn't tell you—"

"I know. But I wish I noticed."

"Don't blame yourself," Kunimi sighed. "It's _not_ your fault. I've always been like this."

"You don't have to anymore," Kindaichi told him. "You've always been here for me, so let me be here for you, too. Yeah, I'm a total fucking mess right now, but... So are you. So... So can we do it? Can we lean on each other?"

Emotion—it was a flurry, all merged together as it passed—flashed through his dark eyes. Kunimi nodded. "I'd like that."

And just like that, a weight that he hadn't even known was there lifted itself from Kindaichi's chest, and his heart felt—if only a little—lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And they were roOMATES
> 
> Look, I'm going full chugga-chugga-choo-choo on the SakuAtsu train, I've been converted for reals this time. For now, though, Kunimi's backstory is the upcoming thing, and we'll be exploring more of the aftermath from other perspectives, too.
> 
> I know I said I'm taking a break, but here's how it went:
> 
> I passed out at around 8pm. Have gotten around 10 hours of sleep in total over the past 3 days due to work. Woke up at 11pm just in time because I had homework (quiz about punishment in the justice system and discussion forum about the stigma and negative impact attached to offenders) due at 11:59, did that, realized it was too late to do my assignment which I had planned for today, and instead finished this up.
> 
> I am not retracting my break statement, though!! It's just become a lot more murky WHEN there is going to be a large gap between chapters, because I am impulsive and lack restraint, so just watch out for whenever it happens and don't stress 'cause I'll be back lol.
> 
> I wonder, though, how many of you connected Goshiki's death to the first piano thingie I released? It was ~foreshadowing~.
> 
> Also, Furudate has released the guidebook, so I though I'd put my own list of siblings here due to the deviation from canon!
> 
> Oikawa - 1 older sister (alive) and 1 older brother (deceased)  
> Iwaizumi - 1 younger brother (Satoshi)  
> Kindaichi - 1 younger sister (Yuuki)  
> Kunimi - 1 older sister and 1 older brother  
> Yahaba - only child  
> Shirabu - only child
> 
> The rest should still be the same!
> 
> And, uh, for those of you wondering who tf Shiroma Yubin is, she's been name-dropped since the early chapters and is a character who features in my two-part series Throne of Lies (a Kitaichi fix-it fic/series). Almost every OC who appears in SS has background in my other HQ fanfictions (I used to only write OC x character about 2-3 years back).
> 
> Comments and shares are always appreciated!! I love reading all of your thoughts and feedback and sharing helps spread the word of its existence!


	35. The Opulence of Adolescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kunimi reflects on his teenage years.

**May 12th, 2018**

"Wait, this is all for real?"

Kindaichi's eyes were incredulous, and Kunimi couldn't help but smile fondly at his friend's disbelief. They had spent the past hour reconciling, hands intertwined until Kunimi complained of the sweat, and were now scrolling through Kindaichi's social media feed. His notifications had absolutely exploded, and neither man were taken with the idea of opening it anytime soon.

His gaze flitted to the time at the bottom right-hand corner of the computer screen, the laptop propped on a small table that stretched over the horizontal of the bed. It was meant for Kindaichi to eat there. "We probably have half an hour left," he informed Kindaichi, remembering that visiting hours for him were almost over. "But yeah, it's all real. You're a hero, Kindaichi." The words felt like sludge on his tongue. Not because it was a lie, but because neither of them believed that he had been injured in a worthy cause.

The thought weighed heavily in their hearts—this, Kunimi knew; had known Kindaichi long enough to figure out—at the end of the day, Goshiki was still dead, and Kindaichi was bedridden. This was not a hero's story. It was a tragedy, one that had been sensationalized by the media for the clicks and views.

"To them, maybe," Kindaichi replied, reluctantly. "But we both know the truth."

"Yes," agreed Kunimi. "We do. Still, though," he tried to uplift the mood, "Some of these headlines and comments are pretty funny."

That got the slightest grin out of Kindaichi. "Yeah, I guess. Some are totally lame, though." He groaned. "Especially those hats. God, those fucking _hats_."

"I know—they're hilarious."

"They're _embarrassing_."

Time flew by faster than Kunimi would have liked, and before he knew it, he was being asked to leave by a nurse. As he packed up his things, he remembered what had slipped his mind earlier. "Oh, right." He dug out a plastic-encased disc from his canvas bag, which was now almost empty now that he had given Kindaichi his laptop and corn. "Here." He chucked it, the disc landing softly on Kindaichi's blanket-covered legs.

Kindaichi blinked at it. "This is..."

"Kageyama's interrogation disc, right?" Kunimi finished. Truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure himself, but he had found it in the top drawer of Kindaichi's nightstand and there was nothing else it could have been. "It didn't look like you had ever opened it, so... I thought you might want to give it a listen while you're stuck here."

Kindaichi's lip wobbled, and—for a moment—Kunimi thought he was going to cry again. But he didn't, simply nodded and said, "Thank you. Maybe you can give it a listen, too, later."

"Mm. Maybe."

It was time for him to go now, and they hugged one more time before Kunimi was out the door and smelling the hospital antiseptic that he hated in the hallway. As he made his way through the maze, his shoulders sagged, and he let out a deep sigh. _Who would have thought? That every decision we ever made led up to here. Even the smallest ones._

He passed by Shiroma in the lobby, though the woman didn't see him. She was speaking gently to a child, the child's mother looking on, her face lined with relief and gratitude.

"You've been great today," Kunimi heard Shiroma praise, and it was scary how he couldn't tell whether or not she was being genuine. Because everything about her was so _real_.

The lobby doors opened up for him, and walked to his car. It was a bit of a dumpster, he had to admit, full of dust and probably some spiders, but he hadn't been able to get it cleaned yet. Things had kept piling up on his plate.

A strange feeling plagued him as he drove through the city. Saiseikai Central grew smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror with each turn of a wheel, and he couldn't help but feel like his childhood was now little more than a dot in the distance.

It was not a bad feeling. It was a _natural_ one. Kunimi knew better than to believe that nostalgia _wasn't_ a liar.

For years now, he had tried closing the curtains himself, pulling on the fabric to end the show that had been his adolescence. And for a while, he had thought that he had succeeded. But then it had sprung open again, with _cases_ and _bad memories_ and _phantom pains_. Hastily stitched wounds tearing apart with the ease of a hot knife cutting through butter.

If he had to venture a guess, though, it was now that—finally—they were beginning to close on their own.

Sisyphus had eschewed the stone.

* * *

**June, 2005**

There was a kid in his class that was pretty quiet, even by Kunimi's standards. They shared a desk at the front of the room together. Kindaichi didn't talk much, if at all, and that was just fine by Kunimi. Because Kunimi Akira was the all-important president of Yoko Elementary's Class 3-3, and he had better things to do than to waste his breath chatting in class.

Smart. Hardworking. Responsible. Reliable. Words that had repeatedly appeared on the comment box of his report card—words that pleased his father and mother to no end. They would dote on him every time a report card came out—would take him to his favorite dessert shop with his older brother and sister: Mamoru and Erika.

They exasperated him most days.

Mamoru was in his second year of middle school, and Erika in her first year of high school. And yet, Kunimi was certain, they had nothing but fluff in their brains. Always losing their things, forgetting to do chores, and emailing their friends instead of studying.

Kindaichi knocked off his own pencil case with one elbow, jumping in his seat. A pencil rolled to Kunimi's side of the floor, and Kindaichi stared at him expectantly.

Grumbling, Kunimi leaned over to pick it up for him. "Here." _Do I have to do everything around here, too?_

"Thanks," Kindaichi mumbled, taking the pencil back.

Recess was a... lonely affair, to say the least. Kunimi interacted with everyone in his class at least once a day, but he didn't really speak to them outside of the classroom. So when they were all sent to the playground, squealing and yelling and calling dibs on various equipment, Kunimi stood under the shade of an evergreen oak tree.

He took out his food—his mother had packed him some fruit jelly, a compact sausage bun, and a banana—and began to eat. He started off with the banana, then the sausage bun. The fruit jelly was for dessert.

Leaves crunched.

Kunimi looked up. "Yes, Kindaichi?"

"Um..." Kindaichi held out something to him, and Kunimi realized that it was a box of Tokémon cards. "My mom bought these for me last week. For my birthday. You wanna play?"

Kunimi frowned, brushing his bangs aside. They were parted in the middle, but starting to grow longer than he would have liked. He would need to get a haircut soon. "I don't have time to 'play'."

Kindaichi mirrored his expression. He had hair like Mamoru. Cropped short and spiky, only Mamoru's didn't stick upward so much. "Why not? The other kids are. It's fun."

"I'm not _like_ the other kids," Kunimi stressed. "I'm class president." _The reliable son._ I don't _get_ to have fun."

"That's stupid," retorted Kindaichi. The boy was bolder than Kunimi had first expected. " _Everybody_ should get to have fun. Even class presidents. 'Sides—are you doing your fancy president stuff now?"

"Well... No."

"Then let's play." The spiky-haired boy sat down opposite him, beaming hopefully.

Kunimi swallowed. "I don't know how."

"That's okay, I'll show you," Kindaichi offered.

"I..." Kunimi sighed. "Fine. One round."

The two spent the rest of the morning spinning cards in the dust.

* * *

**April 3rd, 2009**

The rigidity of his life faded away. Routines and discipline melted into nothing, and his mother tutted at his sloppy uniform collar. "It's your first day of school," she admonished, fixing his tie and shirt collar. Dramatically, she added, "Where did my cute, responsible son go?"

Kunimi gave her a small smile, patting down the front of his shirt. "What do you mean? I've never been happier."

She pinched his cheek affectionately. "What an odd boy you are, Akira."

"I'm not as weird as Mamoru."

"Hey!" Mamoru, who was sitting at the dining table and eating pancakes, pointed his fork at him. "I heard that, stinker!"

"Wow, nice grade schooler insult. Appropriate for your mental age, huh?"

"Boys, don't even start," their mother reprimanded when Mamoru opened his mouth to object. "Mamoru, you're in your last year of high school already! Don't go squabbling with your brother now. Akira's just a middle school boy."

"But, mom!"

"What's with all the yelling?" Erika demanded as she entered the kitchen in her pajamas. It was a set she had bought from a department store—a cupcake-patterned shirt and pants. "Keep it down, you guys, my head is _pounding_."

"You're hungover," Kunimi said, rolling his eyes. "It's not our problem."

"Dear, go get some aspirin from the cabinet," said their mother.

"Uhh... which one?"

"The corner one," Kunimi informed her. The years he had spent in elementary as their primary caretaker had come with knowledge not easily forgotten. "It should be behind the cherry-flavored cough medicine."

"Ah, I see it. Thanks, bro."

Babies, the lot of them. Their father was normally overseas working, so it was up to Kunimi and his mother to keep the two trouble children in line. "Erika," reminded Kunimi as he slipped on his backpack, "Don't forget to submit your assignment. It's due at 11:59 tonight."

"Oh, crap! Thanks, Akira!"

"Did you even finish it yet?" jeered Mamoru.

"Shut up, you goblin."

Their mother palmed her face. "What am I going to do with all of you...?"

The walk to school was a little further than usual for Kunimi, now that he was going to be attending Kitagawa Daiichi. Kindaichi's house was on the way there, though, and Kunimi discovered his best friend crouched in front his house and petting a cat. Like Kunimi, Kindaichi was also wearing a Kitaichi uniform.

"Who's this?" Kunimi asked without preamble, stopping next to Kindaichi's hunched form.

"The neighbors' cat," answered Kindaichi, grinning. "His name's Keiji, I think."

"Huh." Kunimi squatted, too, reaching out to rub the furry head of the animal. "That's cool."

They met Kageyama Tobio for the first time at the entrance ceremony. He had accidentally sat in the second year section, and a wannabe delinquent and hounded him until he slunk away to the first year section. They met him again at the try-outs for the boy's volleyball team, a fortress of strength led by one Oikawa Tooru. All three of them were accepted, along with a few other boys, and training began right away.

Immediately, Kageyama stood out.

As Kunimi did passes with Kindaichi, he pondered whether or not this was a good thing. He wasn't the only one who had noticed—the easy fluidity of Kageyama's sets and digs had drawn Oikawa's attention to him, too.

"He's good," Iwaizumi, the vice-captain, said at one point, voicing what they were all thinking. He gave Oikawa a look. "So why the long face? The team will be in good hands if you train him well."

Oikawa harrumphed. "I know that, Iwa-chan, but... We'll see, we'll see. He's still a total noob compared to me right now."

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.

 _Oh,_ thought Kunimi. _Does Oikawa-san not like Kageyama?_

"Kunimi!" An exasperated Kindaichi puffed when Kunimi let the ball drop for the nth time in their passing drills. "Move your lazy ass!"

"Yeah, yeah."

When Kindaichi wasn't looking, Kunimi smiled tentatively. With Kindaichi by his side, it was going to be a good three years.

* * *

**June — March, 2011**

Benched.

He really should have seen this coming, so what was with that look on his face? A twinge of annoyance—and maybe pity—struck Kunimi as he watched Kageyama trudge off to the bench, looking more lost and directionless than Kunimi had ever seen him. Always so cocksure, so sharp... It made him uneasy to see Kageyama reduced to _this_.

 _Did you realize only now?_ Kunimi asked silently. _How much..._ He glanced around, observing the way their teammates were glaring at the ground, ready to accept defeat. _Everybody hates you?_

Maybe he was being too cruel.

 _I don't think I am._ He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He lifted his chin up just in time for Kousen to aim their serve right at him. Kunimi received it cleanly, sending the ball over to the reserve setter—a doe-eyed first year who was already beginning to sweat. Kunimi felt bad for him. His first official game, and it had to be this one. _He brought this on himself. It's not my problem._

Kunimi liked to live his life on easy mode. After he had abandoned the stick up his ass from primary school, he had been cruising through school. But that did not mean he was unaware of the people around him—of the whispers that followed Kageyama like an evil shadow. Maybe Kunimi was able to take Kageyama's tyrannical behavior without retaliation, but the entire school reeked of resentment toward the boy.

It was unnerving—how classmates and friends that didn't even know half of the things Kageyama had done condemned him like they had access to a list of every sin he had ever committed in his short life. The judge, the jury, and the executioner.

 _Justice_.

No, Kunimi did not wish ill will on Kageyama. But he believed in karma, and Kageyama had a lot of it.

For their graduation trip, they went to the beach. It was quite a miserable affair, if Kunimi had to be honest, and his group—Group 3—got lumped into a cabin with Group 5—a gaggle of giggling girls. Shiroma Yubin held court over them, and they spent their free time gossiping about everyone else's business. Kageyama was a popular topic that Erina, Shiroma's best friend, kept bringing up, much to Shiroma's ire.

"I told you," Shiroma huffed one night in the lounge room, blowing on her fingernails to dry her freshly applied polish. "What's so interesting about that Kageyama boy? Just shut up already, Erina-chan."

They did the typical beach activities that Kunimi expected to see. He and Kindaichi paired up for beach volleyball, and all he had to say about it was that moving on sand was a lot harder than it looked.

"Gaahhh!" Kindaichi flopped down onto the sand at lunch time as Kunimi chewed on a watermelon rind under the shade of a palm tree. It was not very sunny today, but Kunimi's mother had warned him about the dangers of UV light. "God," he bemoaned, "That was so freakin' hard..."

Kunimi let out a noncommittal grunt.

"Hey, Kunimi?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I the bad guy?"

 _Huh?_ Kunimi's brow rose. "What do you mean...?"

Kindaichi sat up, sand clinging to his sunscreen-lathered back. Both of them were shirtless, only wearing their volleyball shorts. "I'm talking about the Kageyama thing," he mumbled. "Did we go too far?"

Kunimi thought about the question. Then, he answered, "We did what we had to do. He pushed, so we pushed back. What—don't tell me you feel bad for him?"

"No!" Kindaichi denied vehemently. "But..." He hung his head. "I might've... said some mean things about him behind his back. S-some, not a lot."

"Oh, I see." Kunimi sucked on the rind. "Hmm... I think... You pity him."

"Eh?"

"You pity him... Because he had every opportunity to become an asset to the team, but he led himself to ruins. Maybe you're even jealous—because he was born a genius, while we had to get where we are now by busting our asses. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he threw it all away."

Kindaichi hugged his knees to his chest, almost petulantly. "It's not _fair_. If I were even _half_ as good as he is, I wouldn't have..."

"I know." Kunimi slapped him on the back, feeling some of the sand transfer onto his palm. "Oi, cheer up. Enough of the pity party, okay? What went down... It wasn't our fault."

Kindaichi managed a wobbly smile. "Thanks."

He was too precious to him.

And Kunimi would not allow him to drown in sorrow and hurt.

* * *

**November 14th, 2012**

His legs were aching, and he could feel the tension melt away from his body as he collapsed to the gym floor, Hanamaki leering over him.

"Tired already?" teased Hanamaki.

"Oh, cut me some slack," retorted Kunimi, his cheek squished against the floorboards. "We've been at this since this afternoon." At least there wasn't going to be anybody home tonight. His father was overseas again for a mining project in Australia, and his mother was visiting her sick cousin in the next town over. Erika lived with her boyfriend in metropolitan Sendai while Mamoru was working late at the clinic tonight. It would just be Kunimi, and he was going to take full advantage of his fact by unwinding.

Oikawa had left before any of them, citing that he had some business to take care of. Kunimi had half-expected Iwaizumi to go with him, but the vice-captain barely even offered him a farewell.

 _Oh, right,_ remembered Kunimi. _They're fighting_. He wasn't sure if anyone else had noticed (maybe Hanamaki and Matsukawa had), but Oikawa and Iwaizumi had been distant for the past two or so weeks. _Probably something silly,_ he assumed. For such a competent and serious player, Oikawa could sure be foolish at times. He supposed that it was just part of his self-declared charm.

The team went their separate ways at the gate. Hanamaki and Matsukawa paired off, while the reserve third years headed their own way. The second years—Yahaba, Watari, and Kyoutani—were talking about going to the arcade with someone called Tsuji Runa when Iwaizumi said goodbye and went, by himself, down the road he usually took with Oikawa.

Kunimi wasn't used to seeing him alone.

"Come on," he started, turning to Kindaichi. "I have a ton of homework to get through." And what an absolute slog it would be.

"Ahh, you go on ahead." Kindaichi was scowling at a text he had received. "Mom wants me to go pick up some groceries on the way home."

"Oh, okay then." Kunimi nodded, understanding. It was really best not to argue with Kindaichi's mother, who was mildly unbearable on her best days. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yep, see ya."

If Kunimi had known what would happen tonight, he would have never let Kindaichi go by himself. But, none the wiser, he plugged in his earphones and began the journey home. Aobajosai was closer to his house than Kitagawa had been, and he slowed down his pace so that he could enjoy the tranquility of twilight. He had long abandoned the notion of having a music taste—Kunimi listened to anything he found enjoyable, and today's choice of song was an instrumental medley from an independent artist.

It had gotten cold earlier than usual this year, but there was no sign of snow yet. Kunimi glanced skyward, adjusting his winter earmuffs. It was nice tonight. He wanted to revel in the wintry evening while it lasted.

Just to draw out his walk, he stopped by a convenience store for some of his favorite salted caramel candies, which he ate on the way home. A party-sized bag meant to be shared with friends and family, but Kunimi was certain he would be able to finish them before midnight tonight. Sugar was the best brain food, he had come to find, and he would need to stay awake to get through his English homework. Poetry. Prose. Kunimi functioned without those two things in life, so it was sure to be a bore.

He arrived home a little past seven, made himself dinner (and shoved some leftovers for Mamoru unceremoniously into the fridge), and headed upstairs to his room with his salted caramel candies after washing the dishes.

Kunimi saved English for last. Despite his lazy nature, not all of his sense of responsibility and discipline had completely left him—he was up to date with all of his subjects except for English and Japanese History; he finished the latter in forty minutes. About half the candies had been devoured, and he was sure the packet would be empty by the time he finished his English review as well.

Mamoru got home around nine-thirty—or so Kunimi thought. The doorbell rang just as Kunimi was finishing the last question, and he closed his book and went downstairs. "Geez," he said as he opened the door, expecting Mamoru's cheeky grin. "I was hoping you'd be out later..." Kunimi blinked. _"Kindaichi?"_

Kindaichi was like paper. Bloodless lips and wide, wide eyes, ready to fall apart if the wind blew in his direction. "Kunimi, _ohmygod_ —"

Kunimi pulled him inside and shut the door. "Kindaichi, slow down," he commanded. "What happened? Why are you so...?" _Shaken?_

"Oikawa's dead!" Kindaichi screamed, taking a huge breath.

 _What?!_ Kunimi surveyed Kindaichi's expression. He wasn't lying. Kindaichi wasn't lying. But maybe he was mistaken. He had to be. Why would Oikawa—Oikawa of all the people in the world—be dead?

Kindaichi was blabbering, muttering all sort of nonsense that was incoherent to him. So Kunimi took him by the hand, led him to his room, and forcibly sat him down on the edge of his bed. "Deep breaths," he coached Kindaichi through, feeling like his fingers were going to break from the tension. "One. Two. Three. Kindaichi. Kindaichi, look at me—One. Two. Three."

But Kindaichi wouldn't. Couldn't. "He's dead! He's fucking _dead_ and I—I just stood there! And—and I ran away! Kunimi, I ran away! I just left him there and ran away!" He burst into tears, tearing at his hair as he hunched over and sobbed.

Stricken, Kunimi tried to wrestle his hands away from his head. "Kindaichi! Stop it!"

"He was in the river," whispered Kindaichi. "A-and his neck—there was so much _blood_."

The implications sent a chill down Kunimi's spine. Killed. _Murdered_. Oikawa had been murdered. _Or has he?_ Kunimi desperately tried to reason with himself. _Maybe this is all just some sick prank._ And if it was, he would tear Kindaichi a new one. "Who did this?"

"I don't _know_!" wailed Kindaichi. "I just saw the... the b-b—" Abruptly, he stood, swaying in his hysteria. "I have to go back. Maybe he's still alive! Oh god, what if he was still alive?! Kunimi—!"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Kunimi urged, slamming the bedroom door shut. "Kindaichi, don't go back." Whoever had done this to Oikawa was probably still out there. "We have to call the police—"

"No!" roared Kindaichi, shoving past him to open the door. "I have to see—I have to _check_!"

"It's too dangerous!" Kunimi grabbed Kindaichi from behind and hauled him back. Then, swiftly, he pressed his back against the door, refusing to let Kindaichi pass. "Kindaichi, you—"

"I left him!" sobbed Kindaichi, trying to push Kunimi aside so he could access the door. "I left him! And you know why?! Because I was scared! I was fucking _scared_ , but I need to see—I need to save him—!"

"Like _hell_ you are. Kindaichi, it wasn't your fault—"

_"Get out of my way, Kunimi!"_

_"No."_ One hand feeling the doorknob, he found the lock nub. "Kindaichi, you _need_ to calm down—" His shoulder slammed against the wall as Kindaichi promptly shoved him out of the way. "Kindaichi!" Kunimi grabbed Kindaichi by the back of his shirt collar—he was still wearing his volleyball jersey underneath his jacket—and yanked him away from the door. Fear twisted in his gut as he grappled Kindaichi into a lock that had his best friend's cheek pressed against his right shoulder, and he found himself shouting, hysterically, "Calm down!" Kindaichi thrashed against him, howling about Oikawa and blood and murder.

_God._

The sight of it pushed him over the edge. Kunimi took a deep breath, trying to blink back his tears as he protested again, "Kindaichi—!" His voice cracked, and the swallowed the rest of his sentence. "Kindaichi— _God_ , Kindaichi, you need to calm down. Stop! _STOP!_ "

It all happened so fast. Someone's leg kicked outward, and a vase on Kindaichi's shelf toppled over and shattered against the flooring.

Kunimi flinched at the noise.

His grip loosened.

And, turning his head around, Kindaichi bit down— _hard_ —onto Kunimi's shoulder, teeth latching down stubbornly. His head lolled; he pulled his sleeve down with his teeth as Kunimi yelped—then he was biting again, this time directly onto his flesh.

The skin broke.

"Leggo!" Kindaichi mumbled as crimson dripped from his lips. "Leggo of me!"

Finally, Kunimi relinquished. Kindaichi tumbled forward, nearly somersaulting over himself as he landed by the door. Desperation sending his entire body into staccato shivers, Kindaichi reached for the doorknob.

And Kunimi—

His shoulder was still bleeding, blood bubbling from the ragged wound and dripping down his bicep.

Without hesitation, Kunimi grabbed the lamp and bashed Kindaichi across the head.

The bulb shattered, the lampshade split, and Kindaichi dropped like a stone in the water.

Hyperventilating, Kunimi grabbed his phone from his desk, practically tearing the charging chord away from the port. He needed to call someone. _Call. Call. Call_. His vision blurring with tears, he pressed the first contact his thumb landed on.

The phone began to buzz, the screen reading: _Calling Iwaizumi-senpai..._

_Click._

No answer.

A frustrated noise exploded from his lips before he scrolled down and tried again—and this time, his call was received.

"Hello?" Kunimi said shakily. "Mamoru?"

* * *

Kunimi Mamoru was not having a good night. It got even worse when he found Kunimi huddled, bleeding, and crying softly in the corner of his room, his friend since childhood—Kindaichi—splayed across the floorboards.

"What the _fuck_ happened here?" Mamoru dropped his bag on the floor and rushed to Kunimi's side. "Akira? Akira!"

"Please," croaked Kunimi. "Help him. You're a doctor, aren't you? Help... Yuutarou..."

"Shit, you're bleeding!"

But nonetheless, Mamoru tended to Kindaichi anyway. "It's not a concussion," concluded Mamoru, picking up the teenager and laying him on Kunimi's bed. "And his airways are all clear."

"No."

"No what?"

"We're not taking him to the hospital?"

"I didn't say we had to," Mamoru stated, lifting Kindaichi onto the bed with a grunt. "That boy was ready to collapse from sheer emotional exhaustion. Your blow to the head wasn't what knocked him out. What he needs right now is lots of rest."

Kunimi dropped his gaze. "I see."

"Lemme see your wound..."

The brothers sat in silence as Mamoru examined the bite wound that Kindaichi had left him. It was so... _messy_. Kunimi hadn't even known human bites could be so severely damaging. The entirety of his shoulder was caked in blood, so much so that Kunimi couldn't see how deep it actually was.

"We should go to the hospital. Fuck, dude, you're gonna need stitches."

"I said _no hospital_."

Mamoru leaned back, exasperated. " _Akira_."

Kunimi met his stare evenly. "Mamoru."

"... Fine. Stay here—I'll stitch it up for you. It's a miracle he didn't tear a blood vessel open..." Mamoru disappeared down the hall, probably gone to get the first aid kit. At least years of practically raising his older brother had paid off. His loyalty was unwavering. Kunimi had guessed correctly—Mamoru returned with the kit and a tissue soaked in antiseptic not even a minute later, already threading a needle as he sat down. "This is gonna hurt."

"I can take it."

By the time he was done, both of them were exhausted.

Mamoru looked around the room. "I'm gonna clean this up. _Don't_ exert yourself."

"Thanks."

As Mamoru cleaned up the shards of vase, using a dustpan to dump the glass into a black garbage bag, Kunimi turned to where Kindaichi was sprawled on his bed. Kunimi hadn't hit him hard enough to warrant a bandage or anything of the sort. Trying to ignore how his fingers were trembling, Kunimi focused on his brother dumping the broken lamp into the bag. His brother took his coat off and undid ran one hand through his hair. Mamoru normally gelled it in the morning before work, and it was starting to look like its natural state once again. Limp and parted in the middle, just like Kunimi's. Being brothers, the two appeared unnervingly alike when they stood side by side.

"I'm taking out the trash," said Mamoru, and Kunimi wondered why he felt the need to declare his every action. But he found he didn't really mind—in a way, it was comforting.

Maybe Mamoru knew this, too.

"Go for it." It was like he was freezing over. The terror that had gripped him so tightly during his violent interaction with Kindaichi had transformed into something else. Kunimi couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. All he knew was that it felt like his entire body had been submerged in a cold, cold ocean. "Mamoru?"

Mamoru turned around.

"Don't... Don't say a word about any of this. Please."

At first, Mamoru just stared at him.

Then he sighed. "Akira. I'll keep your secret. But one day, it's gonna come out. It won't be by me... But it'll come out. Things like this always do."

 _I'll just have to make sure it doesn't._ Kunimi eyed him warily. "Mamoru."

"Alright, alright. I promise."

Kunimi breathed out, relieved. "Thank you. I owe you."

He was lucky.

Lucky that Mamoru didn't know the seriousness of it all.

Kindaichi had freaked out. Kindaichi had almost bitten a chunk off Kunimi's shoulder.

But what had startled Kindaichi so—

Mamoru would _never_ know.

* * *

**November 15th, 2012**

Kunimi—he hadn't slept all night—watched as Kindaichi sat up in the bed, eyes squinted as he turned to face the window.

"What..." Kindaichi groaned, palming his head. "What happened? How did I get here...?"

And Kunimi swallowed. "Don't you remember?" he said breezily. "You came over to study last night—you ended up sleeping over instead."

"I did?" Kindaichi goggled. "Huh. That's weird... Why don't I...?"

"Never mind that." Kunimi chucked Kindaichi's sports uniform at him, wincing slightly when he accidentally jostled his shoulder. "We're gonna be late for practice, and we have to stop by at your house first for your school uniform."

"Ah, shit!" Thankfully, Kindaichi hadn't noticed his flinch. "It's almost seven-thirty!"

"Damn right it is."

"Wait."

Kunimi frowned. "What?"

"You never let me take the bed."

Slowly, Kunimi blinked. "I had a change of heart."

And he left it at that.

Later, to the police, he would lie as easily as he breathed.

* * *

_What happened the night Oikawa Tooru died?_

If anyone asked him this, Kunimi would simply say he did not know a thing of what had transpired.

* * *

**May 12th, 2018**

His shoulder twinged.

 _I guess we match now,_ he thought, remembering Kindaichi's arm, which had been placed into a sling by the doctor.

Kunimi pulled into the parking lot in front of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's main building. Eighteen stories of justice and retribution. Next to it was the looming Public Prosecutors Office, where he would be meeting Prosecutor Chinen.

The beautiful woman at the front desk was a face from the past. She had grown into her own mature charm—womanhood suited Shimizu Kiyoko well. "Hi," Kunimi approached the front desk, "I have a two o'clock with Chinen-san."

Shimizu nodded. "Of course." A few clicks on her computer. "Kunimi Akira-san? Take a seat, please."

Kunimi obliged. He recalled then that he had seen her in the news as well—just a week or two ago, she had appeared in Yomiuri Times as a victim of stalking. The perpetrator had been a Chinese man. If Kunimi remembered correctly, there had been quite a xenophobic rhetoric in the undertones of the article.

It was five past two when Chinen called him up to her office. Thanking Shimizu, he headed upstairs. Her office was on the fifth floor, and a rather homely space he came to discover. After knocking once, Kunimi let himself in. Upon his entrance, she looked up from her papers, pushing them aside.

"Ah," she stood up to greet him, "Kunimi Akira-san, yes?"

"That's right. It's nice to meet you, Chinen-san."

"Likewise."

They got down to business.

At first glance, Prosecutor Chinen Itsumi seemed like a normal, no-nonsense professional in her element. But then he began to notice the button-eyed plushies sitting on her bookshelves, and the pictures on her walls that depicted her and several muscular men in gothic lolita-style maid costumes, their biceps almost as big as Kunimi's head.

It was hard not to let his gaze stray to them.

Schooling his face into neutrality, Kunimi paid attention to what Chinen had to say to him.

"So," Chinen concluded after explaining herself. "Will you testify?"

There was no question about it.

Kunimi jutted his chin outward, defiant and ready to spit in the face of the man who had took everything away from them. "Just tell me what I need to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Reason for the delays were uni and work related, but mostly because I've fallen in love with Light Yagami, God of the New World—
> 
> The first time I watched Death Note (when I was 9/10) I hated Misa. After rewatching it recently (almost 10 years later), I just feel really bad for her. I feel bad for everyone, really, especially the Yagami family. But RIP Misa. Her gothic lolita fashion lives on in Chinen.
> 
> Also, while I was gone, Sakusa's family got updated so that he has a sister (or two idk I don't remember). But in this fic, he's an only child.
> 
> More knots aboutta be tied up in the upcoming chapters :))
> 
> I also got a lot of comments, especially by this ONE READER WHO IS LEAVING COMMENTS AS THEY GO ALONG AND THEY'RE ALL SO LONG; YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND I APPRECIATE YOU DEEPLY. I'm gonna try and get back to every comment I haven't replied to.
> 
> Comments and shares and kudos and the like are LOVE AND THEY GO A LONG WAY!! <3


	36. Summer Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama meets some intriguing characters as he attempts to move past the hostage situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some slight discussion about the mental health stigma in Japan. It should also be noted Karasuno and Nekoma never reignited the flames of their rivalry. Without Hinata there, Nekomata never reached out to Karasuno to begin with. Therefore, Nekoma and Karasuno have never met before.

**May 12th, 2018**

The shop was closed, but Kageyama supposed that it was to be expected. The move to summer was starting to become more noticeable than ever in the way that the sun beat down on the back of his neck, and a bead of sweat made its way down his cheek as he checked his phone.

Voices reached his ears.

"Hey, isn't that him...?"

"Yeah, you're right!"

"Kageyama Tobio—he's a business major."

"Oh my god, wasn't he one of the hostages? I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Dude, don't! He looks downright pissed."

 _Pissed? Do I?_ Kageyama turned off his phone, blinking at the unfriendly expression that was reflected in the black screen. Upon seeing it, his perpetual frown only deepened. In the reflection, he could also see students giving him passing glances that betrayed their intrigue before moving on, making the wise decision not the approach him. Sighing through his nose, he palmed the back of his neck, which was sticky with sweat; he was starting to regret wearing a white shirt today.

Moving into a shady spot under a tree, he checked his messages—he was prone to doing that nowadays.

Maybe it was because Hinata hadn't responded to any of his texts.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Kageyama griped internally, clicking it off again. _I should be happy that runt's not sending me those lame stickers every five minutes..._

But he wasn't.

It bothered him more than he liked to admit. And it wasn't just Hinata's unusual radio silence—everything just felt so _wrong_. Like the whole world had tilted on its axis, leaving Kageyama to stumble around as he tried to regain his balance. Around him, people were going about their day as per usual—as if nothing had happened, as if nothing was _wrong_ —but the atmosphere had undeniably shifted.

If the city had been suffocating before, it was trying to forcefully siphon all the air out of his lungs now.

He leaned against the tree, taking a deep breath.

That day...

Everything had changed.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes for too long, he would see it—the shadowy barrel of a gun pointed between his eyes.

A raindrop splashed onto his shoe, and Kageyama glanced down, curious.

Evidently, other students had noticed the oncoming rain, if their nervous scuttling about was any indication.

"Quickly!" A girl was opening her umbrella and ushering her friends to stand under it. "It's gonna be a downpour!"

Kageyama hadn't checked the weather forecast today, but it seemed like the summer rains were rolling in. He held out a hand, more raindrops wetting his palm. It was almost like that day again—not the one where he had huddled in terror with Hinata and Sunano and Shino, but the one before that. When he had stood on a rooftop and the only thing that had stood between him and death was the last shred of his will to live and sheer coincidence.

"You're going to get soaked out here, young man."

Kageyama turned to see an older man holding a black umbrella over his head, a briefcase in his other hand. His hair was held back by gel, and his face was slightly wrinkled by a fair amount of smile and frown lines alike. He put him as in his mid to late fifties, perhaps.

"Are you alright?" asked the man, approaching him and extending his arm so that the umbrella hovered over both of their heads, protecting them from the rain. When Kageyama didn't answer, his arms crossed, the man looked at the closed Cafe Pezzo. "I see. Yes—now I know who you are. Kageyama Tobio-san, right?"

"What?" blurted Kageyama. "How did you...?"

"Just a bit of logical deduction," replied the man, not condescendingly nor unkindly. He gave Kageyama a gentle smile. "Your navel is pointed toward the cafe, and judging from your closed-off body language, you are very guarded and reserved. Even before you saw me, your posture gave away many things. No—your wariness is not for me, but for something—or someone—else. Yourself, perhaps? Someone who has threatened you? Yes, I'd think so for both. From there, I assumed that your relation with the restaurant was personal. Likely something to do with what happened recently."

Kageyama looked at him appraisingly. "Who are you...?"

"Ah." The man fished a card out of his suit pocket and handed it to Kageyama, who took it.

 _Dr. Nakamura Tsugutoshi,_ the business card read.

"I'm a counselling psychologist," Nakamura elaborated after a beat. "If you ever want to see me, feel free to come down to the university counselling centre to schedule an appointment."

"Thanks," the words felt heavy on Kageyama's tongue, "But I don't need it." At Nakamura's questioning gaze, he added, "Counselling... That goes on my record, doesn't it? Look, I'm graduating this year and I still haven't looked into any graduate jobs yet. I have virtually nothing on my resume, and being some... _mental patient_ won't do me any favors."

The corners of Nakamura's eyes drooped sadly. "That is unfortunate. Did you know, Kageyama-san, that mental health services in Japan are terribly underutilized? Too many people are afraid to seek help, and no good ever comes from bottling everything up inside. We are in the midst of a mental health crisis, Kageyama-san. I promise you, none of this will affect your job prospects. And if it does, the employer would be liable for suing."

Still, Kageyama remained hesitant. "But it's expensive, isn't it?"

"In the university, it is free for all students."

"I don't know..."

"Think about it, then," Nakamura suggested, pushing his glasses up with one knuckle. The umbrella tilted with the action, and Kageyama felt rain fall on his head momentarily. "Maybe you'll find it worthwhile in the long run. Come—I'll walk you to shelter. Are you headed anywhere?"

"No," Kageyama replied, honestly. He had only come to see if Sunano was back. He didn't know where Shino could be found, and Hinata had practically vanished off the face of the earth. He paused. "Maybe the bus stop?"

"The bus stop it is then."

They walked together, the only sound being the rain thudding on the pavement and the slap of shoes. There was a long line at the bus stop, students of all shapes and sizes holding umbrellas, folders, jackets over their heads to protect themselves from the sudden downpour.

"Who do I make appointments with?" Kageyama asked at one point, as the line moved up. "You can't be at the centre all the time."

"I teach advanced classes, actually, so you're correct," said Nakamura, looking pleased that Kageyama seemed to be considering it. "But my T.A. and my intern are there almost every day, so you can reach the centre at any time."

"T.A. and intern?"

"Yes—Mitsuhara Otome and Kunimi Akira."

Kageyama stilled. _Kunimi?_ He was studying to be a psychologist? He did not know much about psychology, but he did know that there were different fields—none of which he could name. Briefly, Kageyama wondered what field Kunimi was in.

"You need not worry," Nakamura assured him. "Both of them are exceptional. Mitsuhara-san is a third year, but a candidate for early graduation, and Kunimi-kun is already in graduate school with several theses under his belt."

"I wasn't worried," Kageyama murmured, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"That Kunimi's doing well."

Nakamura nodded slowly. "I see. I'm assuming you're friends?"

"Once," answered Kageyama, and that was all there was to it. "I..." He trailed off when he felt his phone buzz. Looking down, Kageyama's eyes widened at the notification.

 **[Hinata]:** Are you free rn? Can we meet up?

 **[Kageyama]:** Yes.

"Thank you," Kageyama said hurriedly as he stepped out into the rain, backpedaling. "I'll give the centre a call later!"

"Wait!" Nakamura called after him. "Where are you going?!"

But Nakamura never got an answer, Kageyama running off.

He sighed. "Ah, kids these days move so fast."

* * *

Hinata Shouyou lived in a small room above a rather compact records shop. Kageyama didn't know why he was surprised. Actually, he wasn't. He was more surprised at the fact that records shops still existed in this day and age. How did it generate business? From all the 60s and 70s kids feeling nostalgic?

"You're here." Underneath his excitement, Hinata sounded relieved. Like he hadn't been expecting Kageyama to show up.

"Well, yeah," mumbled Kageyama. "I did say 'yes', didn't I?"

"You're drenched," Hinata remarked as he allowed Kageyama inside his home. He was wearing a collared shirt and jeans—had he been out? "Bakageyama, did you walk through the rain?"

"No, I ran."

"Geh! Even worse!"

Kageyama waved dismissively. "It's just a little rain."

"You're gonna get a fever," Hinata told him, chucking a towel he had procured from the bathroom at his face. "Dry off your hair already."

As Kageyama did, taking a seat while he was at it, Hinata worked the coffee machine at the kitchenette, looking more pensive than he normally did. It was a weird expression to see on Hinata's face. Kageyama didn't think that Hinata was even capable of actual thought, but he was starting to know better now.

 _Does he have nightmares, too?_ Kageyama thought. _Is that what this is?_ He took no offence at being ghosted for the past few days—he simply wanted to know what was going on Hinata's end. And Sunano's. And Shino's. But mostly Hinata's.

"Kageyama," Hinata said suddenly, his orange bangs falling over his eyes slightly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I've been avoiding you," Hinata explained, which was nothing Kageyama already knew. The question was _why_.

"Okay."

"You're not mad?"

"No."

At that, Hinata let out a little chuff. "Not even a little?"

Kageyama frowned. "Should I be?"

"It's up to you, I guess..." The coffee machine whirred. "I'd be annoyed if someone did what I did to you to me... If that makes any sense. Hm." Hinata stroked his chin. "Or is it 'if someone did to me what I did to you'? Japanese is hard."

"Neither of those sound right," Kageyama said, truthfully. "Hinata, I thought you died or something."

Hinata spluttered. "I'm very much alive!"

"Yeah, but I didn't know that."

"I—Actually, you know what, good point. Sorry. Again."

Kageyama was getting tired. "I don't want apologies. Where were you? And the others? Do you know where they are? I went to the cafe, but it was closed."

"Sunano-san texted me yesterday," Hinata informed him. "She was discharged from the hospital. Her parents came all the way down from Akita to look after her, so she'll be fine. But I don't know where Iwasaki-chan is."

"And you?"

All of a sudden, Hinata beamed. It was like watching the clouds part to reveal the sun, and Kageyama could only sit down on the couch with Hinata's pink towel draped over his head, transfixed. "They found her." There was a tremor of exhilaration in his voice. "Natsu. I know where she is now."

The towel fell from Kageyama's head and into his lap.

"She's in rehab," continued Hinata, still wearing that splitting grin. "She's been in rehab for the past year or so. They... They say she's making good progress! She's not in the clear yet, but she will be soon, and when that happens... I'll get to meet her. Kageyama! I'll get to see Natsu again!"

To Kageyama's horror, tears began to slide down Hinata's cheeks. He stood up, awkward and stiff. "H-hey! Why are you crying, dumbass? This is a good thing!"

"I know!" bawled Hinata, pushing the cups of coffee he had made aside so they wouldn't be tainted by his salty tears. "I... I missed her so much! She's finally getting better! Finally, she got the help she needed for so long! And she did it on her own. Isn't that amazing, Kageyama?"

Kageyama's hard features softened, his shoulders sagging slightly as he palmed Hinata's back comfortingly. "Yeah. It's pretty amazing."

_"Did you know, Kageyama-san, that mental health services in Japan are terribly underutilized? Too many people are afraid to seek help, and no good ever comes from bottling everything up inside."_

"I'm so proud of her," Hinata whispered. "I'm gonna give her the biggest hug when I see her. I've been visiting the centre every day since they called, but all they did was make me sign forms."

"Oh."

"But I'll see her soon. I know I will. The doctors say she'll complete her program by mid-June." Hinata smiled up at Kageyama. "I'm so _happy_."

That reminded him. Kageyama still had Dr. Nakamura's card shoved into his pocket. Unsure of what exactly to say, he took it out and held it toward Hinata. The orange-haired man blinked at it, owlishly, before reading it aloud.

"'Doctor Nakamura Tsugutoshi. Counselling Psychologist. University of Tokyo'. Kageyama... Are you getting therapy?"

There was nothing accusatory, condescending, or snide in his tone, and Kageyama felt a weight slide off his shoulders. Hinata understood. "No, but... I'm considering it. After what happened to us... I was wondering..." He cleared his throat, feeling his ears grow hot. Maybe Hinata had been right about the fever. He wouldn't be running in the rain again anytime soon. "Do you want to do it... together?"

Before Hinata could answer, however, somebody knocked on the door. "Shouyou," an unfamiliar voice called, muffled by the wood, "Are you in there? I'm coming in."

"Kenma!"

"Hey, wait, dumbass—"

The door creaked open, and a young man—shorter than them both—stood at the doorway. He had long hair—the tips were dyed a gaudy blond—which was partially held up in a bun.

"Oh." Kozume Kenma stared at them with slanted, cat-like eyes. They were a brilliant gold. "Was I interrupting something?"

Hinata and Kageyama exchanged a glance.

"Well, no," Hinata began, looking uncertain with himself.

"But actually, yes," finished Kageyama. "Who are you?"

"I should be asking _you_ that question," Kenma retorted. "Shouyou, why's there some scary guy in your flat?"

"He's not that scary," Hinata protested. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

Kenma held up his phone. Kageyama noticed it was a very sleek, professional model. "You weren't answering any of my texts, so I decided to drop by. And thank god I did." At that, he cast a dark look at Kageyama.

"What's that supposed to mean?" growled Kageyama.

"Nothing. Why?" Kenma's golden eyes gleamed. "Is it supposed to mean something?"

 _What a blunt asshole!_ Kageyama hissed in his mind, quite blissfully unaware of the hypocrisy in that statement. "You're the one that barged in here unannounced."

"I did not _barge_."

Hinata looked at Kenma. Then at Kageyama. "Uh, guys—"

"No, you did," Kageyama talked over him, "That was definitely barging."

Kenma rolled his eyes. "What exactly qualifies as barging to you?"

"What you did just then. That was barging."

"You're using circular logic—"

"SHOUYOUUUU!"

Kenma was sent flying forward by another man, who screeched up to the doorway. The sides of his head shaved, he donned a mohawk.

"Tora!" exclaimed Hinata, rushing forward to perform some sort of complicated handshake with him.

"Now, that," Kenma mumbled into the rug before lifting his head up to glare at Kageyama. " _That_ was barging."

Kageyama couldn't argue with that logic.

"Ugh, Tora, get off him." Kenma brushed himself off to rescue Hinata from Yamamoto Taketora's clutches. "I said _off_."

As the Nekoma alumni reunited, Kageyama stood to the side, watching their banter. More than once, Hinata glanced his way; finally, Hinata managed to remove the parasitic Yamamoto from his body and dragged Kageyama to their circle. "Guys, this is Kageyama. Kageyama, these are the guys."

"Hey," Kenma offered, monotonous in his delivery.

"Kageyama, huh?" Yamamoto grinned. "The name's Yamamoto Taketora, but just call me Tora!" He held up a hand, presumably for a high-five. Kageyama obliged.

"Kageyama Tobio."

They turned to Kenma, who sighed. "Kozume Kenma. Tora, you should've just stayed in the car like I asked."

"Huhh?" Yamamoto made a face. "And who made you the boss, huh?" He guffawed. "You can't even drive, Kenma!"

Kenma's expression soured.

"So," Hinata said. "What brings you guys here? Besides the text stuff. I'll tell you guys later."

"Kenma thought you died," Yamamoto said in that obtrusively straightforward way of his.

"See?" groused Kageyama, nudging Hinata sharply with one elbow. "It's reasonable."

Hinata laughed. "Well, I'm alive. Now what?"

"What do you think?" The corners of Kenma's lips tilted upward in a tiny smile. "It's a Saturday afternoon. I already booked us a spot at the community centre."

"No way...!" Hinata's eyes became round. "For real? Man, I haven't played volleyball in ages!"

 _Volleyball?_ Instantly, Kageyama straightened. _Wait._ They hadn't said he was invited. Why would they invite him, anyway? They'd just met. It would be weird. He swallowed back his desire to ask them if he could come, too prideful. "I think I'll leave, then—"

"What do you mean?" Yamamoto's voice had him freezing on the spot. "Why don'tcha come with us? Even if you don't know how to play, we can teach you."

It gave him pause, the offer. When was the last time he had heard such a thing? An invitation to play? Kageyama didn't _get_ invited to things. Like he had accused Kenma of doing, Kageyama had always barged into things, shoving and shouldering his way through Kitagawa Daiichi and Karasuno High even when nobody had wanted him there.

Hinata gave him a curious glance. "Kageyama?"

"I..."

But Yamamoto never gave him the opportunity to answer. He was like a whirlwind, and before they knew it, they were being ushered downstairs and into Yamamoto's car. It was old, beat-up, and likely second-hand, but its homeliness was comforting. Hinata and Kageyama tumbled into the backseat together, while Kenma got the privilege of riding shotgun.

"Hurricane Tora," Kageyama heard Kenma mutter under his breath, no real effort on his part to conceal his vitriol.

"Put on your seatbelts," declared Yamamoto. "Because this ride is 'bout to get _gutsy_!"

"Tora. No one says that. _No one_."

As Yamamoto waited for cars to pass before pulling out of the parking spot, Kageyama turned to Hinata. "About before—"

"Let's go." Hinata smiled.

"Eh?"

"Counselling," he said. "Let's go. Together."

And while Kageyama's hair was now dry, he was beginning to feel feverish again. "Yeah. Okay."

* * *

"We have the space for two hours," Kenma announced, checking his phone. "It's Saturday today, so we can't extend our time since there's other people waiting."

In spite of his appearance and general disposition, Kageyama thought Kozume Kenma was a leader type from the way he talked. Not a natural born one by any means, but still. He was experienced in leading people.

They were the first ones to arrive, and they set their bags down. Yamamoto wheeled out a cart of volleyballs from a storage room while Kenma restyled his hair so that it wouldn't get in the way of their play.

"Kageyama," Hinata said, practically vibrating in anticipation. "You said you played volleyball before, right?"

"Yeah. Throughout school." Kageyama stretched on the gym floor, the wooden flooring cool beneath his calves. "I stopped in high school, though."

The four of them were the first ones to arrive. Kageyama had no idea how many more people would be showing up, but it was unrealistic to think that there would be enough people for a six-on-six. Even if it was a Saturday, a lot of people still had work or other commitments.

"Same here." Hinata leaned forward to touch the toe of his shoes with his fingers. He was a flexible creature, able to almost completely wrap his hands around the balls of his feet. "Ever since the accident, my legs have always been weak." He sighed. "I used to wanna go pro, but that dream kinda faded out with everything that was happening around me."

"My dreams faded, too," confessed Kageyama.

Two more people joined them—less than what Kageyama had expected, but enough for a three-on-three.

"Shouyou!" Inuoka Sou jogged up to them. His hair was cropped short at the front, the back fluffing upward in rounded spikes.

Hinata lit up. "Sou!"

"Up high!"

"Down low!"

"Turn around—"

"And under we go!"

Kageyama could only watch, stupefied, as both Inuoka and Hinata stretched their torsos under their spread legs and high-fived.

"My joints hurt from seeing that," Kenma remarked.

"Hey, Kageyama, wanna try?" Hinata pulled Kageyama from off the floor.

"No."

"It's easy!" claimed Inuoka. "I'm Inuoka Sou, by the way. It's nice to meet you!" He held out a hand, with Kageyama hesitantly took.

"Nuff... Nice to meet you." A beat. "I'm Kageyama Tobio."

Hinata stifled a laugh. " _Nuff_."

Scowling, Kageyama grabbed his head and squeezed. "Shut up, scrub!"

A man that Kageyama hadn't completely registered at first made his way forward, studying Kageyama's mien with great focus. He walked, slightly hunched, with his hands joined behind his back, a bit like someone's grandfather.

Kageyama blinked at him. "... Hi."

"... Heist to meetcha," Fukunaga Shouhei said eventually, making Kenma groan. "Wasn't banking on it, but it works. No hold-up in getting to know each other..."

"Not one of your better ones," Kenma told him, a sigh of long-suffering passing through his lips.

A frown marred Kageyama's features, returning it back to its default expression. "I don't get it."

"He's been watching lots of heist movies lately. He probably thought you looked like one of the characters, since you have such a scary face."

Kageyama grit his teeth. "I was born with this face!"

At that moment, Yamamoto cut through the tension with his presence alone, emerging from the storage room with a cart of volleyballs in tow. "The gang's all here! Well, almost. Not really. Man, only six of us?"

"Where's Kuroo?" Hinata wondered. "He usually plays with us."

"He has a meeting with the Todai deans today," Kenma explained. "About some chemical burglary and 'using his platform to spread baseless conspiracy'. I'm sure he'll be fine. That conspiracy turned out to be not-so-baseless, after all."

A few more names Kageyama was utterly unfamiliar with were dropped. Someone named _Yaku_ was training in Russia for the upcoming v-league season, and a _Nobuyuki Kai_ had volunteered earlier in the week to saw off a neighbor's precarious tree branch today. More names were mentioned after those, but none Kageyama cared to remember.

They split into two teams of three. Kageyama, Hinata, and Fukunaga on one team, and Kenma, Inuoka, and Yamamoto on the other.

Kageyama, who had been given the opportunity to serve first, stalked back to behind the end line. It was quiet. There was no cheering or jeering like there would be in a real match. Just the impatient squeak of Yamamoto's shoe against the floor and his own breathing.

_When was the last time I did this?_

His body moved on its own.

He tossed the ball high into the air, Yamamoto gawking.

"Wait, is he doing a ju—"

Kageyama slammed the ball into their court, blowing it past Inuoka's outstretched arms.

"—mp serve?"

_In._

His heart soared. "One-nil."

"BRO!" cried Yamamoto. "You... Are you some sorta secret pro?! Holy fuck, dude, that was awesome!"

"I knew you were good!" Hinata bounded up to him and slapped both of his hands in a double high-five. He almost sounded accusatory. "Of course Bakageyama is stupidly good at volleyball!"

"Yeah, well..." Kageyama took a deep breath, thinking of the days he had spent in middle school padding after Oikawa like a lost puppy. Observing the twist of his wrist, the height of his toss, the spin of the ball, and the number of steps he took before leaping into the air. "I learned from the best." He frowned. "It's not perfect, though. I can't control it as well as I'd like—"

"Just accept the freakin' compliment!" yelled Yamamoto. "Now do it again! You won't get past us this time."

"That could snap my arms off," said Kenma, grimacing.

"Wait," Kageyama cut off Kenma's complaining. "Fukunaga-san, is it okay if you serve? I... I want to try something."

Fukunaga nodded. "Pass it here."

Kageyama rolled it to Fukunaga, who moved to the back line. "Hey," he pulled on the back of Hinata's shirt, "I saw how high you jumped during warm-ups. Do you think you can pull that off again?"

"Not really," Hinata answered, honestly. "It depends if my legs decide to cooperate with me or not."

 _Fine. I can work with that, I think._ "I see. Don't worry about it, then. Just jump as high as you can. I'll..." Kageyama stepped back, pointing directly at Hinata. "Bring the ball to you."

And Hinata's eyes _shone_.

Fukunaga's serve was received cleanly by Kenma; it meant that their setter was essentially out of the play. But they worked around it, Yamamoto putting up an emergency set for Inuoka to hit.

"Mine!" Fukunaga dove for the ball, sending it to Kageyama.

He lifted his hands.

His nails were still the same, even after six years. Trimmed short. A habit he hadn't been able to break, even when he had to give up on volleyball for his sister and juvie and studies—

_There!_

He was flying.

Hinata was flying.

Arching his back, Kageyama sent the ball zipping backwards and connecting with Hinata's palm. It landed right next to Inuoka, who hadn't even had time to react to the impromptu quick set.

"Sh..." Inuoka ogled at Hinata, who was teetering on the balls of his feet. "Shouyou, that was amazing! Gah, wait! Can you stand?" He ducked under the net, Kageyama coming from the other side so that both of them were helping Hinata stay upright.

"Yeah." Kageyama had never seen Hinata smile like this before—without the melancholy tugging his mouth downward. It was one of childish glee. "Yeah, that was...! Bwah!"

"Bwah?"

"Do it again!" Hinata demanded, grabbing Kageyama by the front of his shirt in an almost desperate plea. "I want to do that... as many times as possible!"

Pertubed, Kenma joined them. "Shouyou. I get it, but don't overexert yourself. You know what happens if you play too intensely."

"I know, but this is _different_."

"You like his sets better than mine?"

"Eh?! I didn't mean—"

Kenma chuckled. "I'm only kidding, Shouyou. I've been outclassed in the setting department. It's not a bad thing, it just is. You, though..." He glanced at Kageyama. "That was some freak set you pulled off. I'm impressed."

Kageyama grunted. "Thanks..." A compliment from Kenma didn't mean much to him, but it was a compliment nevertheless.

"Guess I'll have to show you what I'm made of, too. Come on, Tora, Inuoka—let's defeat the boss level."

"Gutsy of you, Kenma!"

"Stop. I'm gonna hurl if you mention guts one more time."

"Let's play!" cheered Hinata. "As many sets as we can!"

And they did. They were in the middle of their fourth set when Hinata's legs finally gave out. Fukunaga and Kageyama caught him before he could hit the ground. It must have ached, Kageyama thought, but Hinata didn't seem to be in any pain at all. He seemed... oddly at peace.

"It hurts," Hinata moaned, proving him wrong a moment later. "But... I think I could die happy. Even when I still played... I never really got to see over that wall. View's nice." His words were starting to slur, and Kenma quickly ducked to the benches to get Hinata an unopened bottle of Potari Sweat.

"Here." Kenma thrust the bottle toward him after unscrewing the cap. "You need to get rehydrated."

"Gehh... Thanks, Kenma."

Hinata chugged more than half the bottle before finally managing to stand, using one hand to massage his shin and calves. "I'll be fine soon," he reassured them. "The pains aren't as bad as they used to be." A rumble. Hinata balked. "Bathroom."

Immediately, everyone scattered to allow Hinata through, the man scuttling his way across the court and to the bathrooms.

Their two hours would be ending soon, and it was time to clean up.

"We'll get started," Yamamoto offered. "Kageyama, Kenma—go sit down for a bit. You two look _exhausted_."

Indeed, they did. It had been a battle between setters in their match, and Kageyama was proud to say that his team edged a victory over Kenma's.

As the rest of them started packing away, Kageyama lifted his head when he noticed Kenma take a seat next to him on the bench, chewing thoughtfully on the nub of his water bottle. Then, with all the bluntness of a hammer, Kenma opened his mouth and spoke.

"Kageyama. Do you _like_ Shouyou?"

Kageyama choked on his water, slamming his fist into his chest and coughing. "W-what makes you think that...?!"

"It was just a question." Kenma brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "But judging by _that_ response, the answer's pretty clear to me."

Kageyama glared at the floor, gripping his knees tightly. "It's none of your business."

"Wrong. Shouyou's one of my best friends. That automatically makes it my business." Kenma thumbed his lip, nibbling on the nail. "Shouyou's told you a lot of things, I bet. From the way he acts around you, I doubt he hasn't. Which is fine. It's his choice to disclose them, not mine. But did he ever tell you... that it was me?"

Kageyama raised a brow.

"It was me," Kenma enunciated, "Who stopped him from taking his own life all those years ago. Ever since then, Shouyou... He's like a brother to me. I'm sure you can understand why I'm sticking my nose in."

_"A friend stopped me when I thought there was nothing to live for anymore. He said that I'd only be stuck in the dark forever if I didn't bother looking for the light."_

_So this is the friend?_

_He's... a good friend._

Kenma met his gaze evenly, even through the dark circles around his eyes. Did this man even sleep? Likely not. "Kageyama... If Shouyou feels the same way, I won't stop you from being together. But," he narrowed his eyes, "If you ever do anything to hurt him—"

"You'll punch me?" Kageyama finished, tartly.

The corners of his mouth twisted upward. "I'll make you _disappear_."

It was a _promise_ , and it sent a chill down his spine. "Right."

"Hmm..." Kenma sat back on the bench, leaning on his forearms. "Good talk. I guess I'll be seeing you around, _Tobio_."

* * *

The rain had cleared up by the time they were finished.

"Man, I'm pooped. Let's go get a drink on Kenma!" Yamamoto suggested as soon as they walked out of the community sports centre, sweating but feeling more refreshed than ever from the exercise.

"I _always_ pay," huffed Kenma, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up. It made heat prickle up Kageyama's back just looking at him wear it.

"You're a _millionaire_ ," Inuoka pointed out.

"That doesn't mean I'm made of money."

They were a lively lot, Kageyama thought. In fact, they almost reminded him of his old high school team. But Kageyama had never fit in there—not really—and it was easier for him to be comfortable in his own skin with the cats. They didn't sneer at him the way Tsukishima once had, or exchange those reluctantly concerned glances like Sugawara and Daichi had been prone to do. He supposed it couldn't be helped. In the end, it hadn't really been anyone's fault (except Tsukishima's), and he had long come to terms with it. Still, nostalgia for what he had missed out on pulled at him.

"You were amazing, Kageyama!" Hinata's voice snapped him back to reality, and he turned to look at him. "Your sets were all _whoosh_ and _bam_!"

"Hmm..." Kageyama lifted a finger to his chin, contemplatively. "It was more like _fwoosh_ and _wham_ , actually."

"I know exactly what you mean!" Inuoka chimed in. "And Hinata—you haven't lost your touch!"

"Of course," Kenma affirmed, loftily. "Shouyou can do anything."

"Speak Japanese, you two," Yamamoto said to Kageyama and Hinata, backpedaling with his hands in his pockets. "You dudes totally share one braincell, don'tcha?"

At that, Hinata and Kageyama simultaneously tilted their head in the same direction, uncertain of Yamamoto's implication. Perhaps Dr. Nakamura could unveil some answers in next week's session (which Kageyama intended to book tonight).

Yamamoto and Kenma led the way to a restaurant that supposedly served excellent dumplings, occasionally consulting Kenma's smartphone for directions. Inuoka trailed near the back with Kageyama, Hinata, and Fukunaga.

"The secret ingredient to surprising people with your paella," Fukunaga was explaining with his round eyes, "is the Spanish Inquisition."

"The what?" Hinata asked. "Why?"

"Because nobody ever expects the—"

The end of Fukunaga's joke was went lost to the wind; Kageyama noticed movement from the corner of his eye. A moment later, a woman with long dirty-blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail stalked past him, looking like she had somewhere to be.

She was dressed the part, too.

 _A police officer_. Kageyama's gaze followed her retreating figure. All of a sudden, though, she stopped to stare at the park next to the sidewalk. Kenma and Yamamoto shuffled past her without acknowledging her, busy arguing about whether or not steamed dumplings were better than fried ones ("Obviously not," Kenma was saying). Hinata, Inuoka, and Fukunaga didn't seem to be interested in her either, but Kageyama slowed down, waiting for what she would do next.

A ball rolled to her feet. She peered down at it.

"Excuse me!" Three little boys came running up, shirts and shorts covered in grass stains and mud. One of them asked her, "Can you pass us the ball?"

"Pass you the ball?" echoed the woman. There was a strange smile playing on her lips. "Sure, kids."

"Thanks, lady—"

With all her might, she booted the ball into oblivion—it soared across the park and disappeared into the clouds.

Kageyama almost tripped over his own feet.

"Hahaha!" She was obviously some kind of psychopath. "Oh my _god_ , oh, that was _so_ funny. Are you gonna cry? Oh my god, haha!"

To their credit, the children didn't cry. They just stared, slack-jawed, at the _monster_ in front of them.

She whipped around, startling Kageyama. "What?"

"Uh."

Her name tag, which hung around her neck, flipped the right side up for Kageyama to see who exactly she was.

 _Superintendent Ishigami Yua_ , the identity tag read. _Miyagi Prefectural Police_.

_She's from Miyagi? Then what's she doing all the way here in Tokyo?_

"Close your mouth, cutie," she said, leering. "You're gonna attract _flies_."

It was not the first time Kageyama had been rendered speechless by something, but it was certainly the strangest time. Slowly, he power-walked away from her, glancing over his shoulder all of one time before catching up with his friends. The last he saw of her was her getting back into her unmarked police vehicle.

Had she known what would happen with the kids' ball? Had she gotten out of her car just to _bother_ them? It astounded him.

There was a madwoman in Tokyo.

And whatever she was here for, Kageyama was sure that she would tear it apart with her slasher grin and her bare hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guess who's been reading Dr. Frost again (hint: it's me). I'm currently doing Criminology/Crim Justice degree, but I'm starting to be (re)interested in psychology again. I was planning to do a double degree with Law/Crim next year, but now I'm not so sure. Psychology is just... fascinating to me. Psychological dramas and thrillers are also some of my favourite genres. Never expected to be a sociology student considering my high school senior year subjects (bio, ext. math and phys have all my love but chem can go die in a hole, mole-looking Avocado number mf), but here we are.
> 
> In-between my contemplations to purchase a Light Yagami body pillow for Christmas and my attempts to learn Giorno's Theme (and make a new SS song for the last time) on piano for my friend who likes JoJo (literally only have like the first five seconds down omg), I've been writing this chapter, so here it is ig.
> 
> I must thank one reader tho. You know it's you, Lena. Buying me a coffee just fueled all my spirit into writing. SO THANK YOU!!! T^T <3
> 
> Here's a picture of [Ishigami Yua](https://imgur.com/a/m1zvfb7)
> 
> Comments are love, as usual, and I'm gonna try and get straight to replying to the previous chapters' comments!


	37. A Coward's Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt is the idiot cousin of remorse.
> 
> Shirabu, for all his intellect, feels it anyway.

**May 12th, 2018**

Cleaning up this mess would be akin to trying to drain the entire ocean with a teaspoon. _To think_ , Chinen Itsumi lamented, _that I thought it would have stopped at a simple murder case_. The Osamu case wasn't supposed to peel back layers and layers of lies and corruption. It was supposed to have been simple. All she had had to do was get a confession out of Atsumu and then convict him for killing his twin.

She needed to pass out for a couple of hours.

"Everything okay, boss lady?"

Chinen looked up from her paperwork to see Number One—burly, mustachioed, bald, and distinctly European in both accent and appearance—and smiled. "As okay as it can be, Number One."

Number One flexed his muscles. His gigantic arms were exposed in his attire, which constituted of a form-fitting maid uniform, stockings, and dainty Mary Janes. "Once this is all over, we'll take Numbers Two and Three and go on a road trip. Sound good, boss lady?"

"To the mountain hot springs would be perfect," said Chinen. Yes, it would be absolutely divine and just what the doctor ordered. She thumbed her lip. "We'll be bringing Thundercock, too, I trust?"

Number One frowned at the mention of her cat, a creature he so hated. "That flaming bastard— _Ahem_." He cleared his throat, remembering just who he was speaking to. "Of course. If we must, that is."

"Don't worry, Number One, Thundercock loves the water."

"How's the case going?" Clearly, Number One didn't want to talk about the cat that had stolen his spot in Chinen's hierarchy of affection.

"Things have certainly escalated," mumbled Chinen, still less than pleased about her situation. "Karasuda-san is already working on Shō, but the man has lawyered up rather strongly. I have a feeling... A deal may be made."

"A deal? With Shō?"

"Not with Shō," corrected Chinen. "He's guilty as far as Karasuda-san is concerned. It's a matter of proving _how_ guilty he is. No, the deal is with Chen Jianhong, a former lackey of his. I met Karasuda-san for lunch today, but he was rather reluctant disclosing details with me." She scoffed. "Ridiculous. That man is nearing sixty and he still can't trust a woman to do his job, or at least help him do it. Terano Maki would be ashamed."

The pressures were closing in on her from all sides. The media were pushing the police and the prosecutors for answers, the University of Tokyo was under fire for showing inadequate concern about the mental health of students and the cover-up of a chemical burglary, and Miya Osamu's case had been turned on its head with Shō's rooftop confession. Then there was the entire debacle with the higher-ups and the Prosecutor-General. The Minister of Justice had already made a statement to quell the masses, but it was hardly enough. Asahi Times and Yomiuri Times, ever competitive, were reporting every new and little thing that was coming out. From Kindaichi Yuutarou's sudden wave of adoring fans to the mysterious dismissal of Prosecutor Sakusa Kiyoomi, nothing was getting past them. Their journalists were top-notch, and it showed.

It would have been easier to just arrest and charge Atsumu for the death of his brother.

 _But then it wouldn't be right. A terrible injustice_. In a way, a part of her was glad that Doctor Makoshima Naoko had been such a hardass about letting her see Atsumu for questioning. That woman had bitten Chinen's head off the last time they saw each other, but it meant that there had been enough time for Shō to be exposed.

"What about that man?" asked Number One, breaking her out of he reverie.

"Hm? Oh, you mean Kunimi-san?"

"Yes. How will he help?"

"Karasuda-san is busy with Chen today, so he asked me to reach out to Kunimi-san," explained Chinen. "He may be an important witness. Not for the Osamu case, no, but for the one that preceded it..."

Prosecutor Karasuda had combed through the files for Osamu and Oikawa with great care. Sakusa's personal assistant, Okazaki Hana, had kickstarted the process by passing Sakusa's files (at his behest) to Chinen and Karasuda. Sakusa was out of the prosecuting game for now, and it was up to them to make things right. Every name that had come up during the past investigation was noted down, and the person contacted. Kunimi had been one of them.

She remembered what Kunimi had told her earlier this afternoon.

_"It wasn't me. It was my brother, Mamoru, on the camera. I was still inside the house, with Kindaichi."_

_Kunimi and Kindaichi.._. Absently, Chinen flipped through the papers on her desk, only pausing when she found their files. She pulled them out, looking sadly at their faces. They would have been so young when it all happened. Fifteen or sixteen. It was horrible. And Kindaichi would be forced to relive that night again, when either her or Karasuda inevitably paid him a visit to get his testimony. About Oikawa. About Osamu. About Goshiki and Shō. That man had a finger in every pie, however unwilling he was.

Number One tilted his head, bemused, when Chinen took out another file.

_Kageyama Tobio and Kageyama Miwa._

Chinen remembered them. Remembered _him_. It was poor Miwa's dismembered remains that had been found in Osamu's apartment building, bones stripped of almost all their flesh scattered around the carpark. And it was Kageyama Tobio who she had given the news to upfront. Recounting the news to his mother over the phone had been next, and Chinen didn't like thinking about the way Kageyama Reina had quietly sobbed into the receiver, both relieved that she had finally gotten closure and devastated that it meant she had to bury a child.

 _No parent should ever have to do that_.

Chinen blinked her tears back. It would not do good to cry in front of Number One, who was a sensitive man.

It was hard to divide all parties into two sides, but she managed. On a piece of scrap paper, she drew up a simple diagram with a line splitting the paper vertically.

"What's that?" Number One leaned over her desk.

"What we're fighting for and against," Chinen said softly, brushing a strand of her wavy chestnut hair behind one ear. "Obviously, things are a lot more complicated in reality... But on paper, we'll pretend it's black and white. Right and wrong." With her pen, she pointed to the left side of the diagram, which had less words written on it. "Shō Shinya. Prosecutor-General Hirakawa. Midorima Shintaro. Hirakawa Daizen." The last name was circled and with question marks floating around it. "I have no doubt the conglomerate Hirakawa family will try and worm their way out of justice. Undoubtedly, they've already gotten in contact with their lawyers and are forming a plan to get themselves fully acquitted. They will want Shō to take the fall for everything. And Shō's lawyer... I... I'm not quite sure what he's going to do. It will be hard for him to argue Shō out of a life sentence, or even the death penalty, especially with the Hirakawa lawyer team. He will probably try to reduce his sentence instead, but they're trapped in a box." _Unless they work together._ But would it come to that? She couldn't know, not truly. Everything was up in the air right now, and she was not clairvoyant enough to foresee every variable.

"So, to put it simply," Number One said, slowly, "They're the bad guys, right?"

"Correct." Chinen tapped the left side of the paper with the end of her pen. "Either I or Karasuda-san will be prosecuting. The Hirakawa family, as far as I know, have not committed any murders. Hirakawa Noriko is liable to be charged for conspiracy to murder or being an accessory to murder if Shō's testimony was anything to go by, but her father was uninvolved. He's practically Teflon as long as he can deflect away the rape and incest charges, and I have no doubt he will—or at least _attempt_ to. I am aware, also, that there are rumors that he murdered his wife, but her autopsy report ruled her death out as foul play. She died of a chronic illness." _Or so the report said..._ Dread filled her. If there had been a cover-up, it just meant that Daizen's influence was more far-reaching and terrifying than she had first thought. For a coroner to fake an autopsy report? Who would ever know? Ever find out? Especially if they were high-ranking.

Daizen was untouchable.

Chinen chewed on her thumbnail. _There's got to be something... Anything...!_ Her gut feeling was ringing all the alarm bells of guilt—Daizen was too spotless in this whole affair. He may not have been directly involved in anything, but there was something about him... _So what is it? What am I missing?_

Number Two burst into her office, then. "Boss lady! Boss lady!" He was of Japanese descent, and without a mustache. Unlike Number One, whose head reflected the sun gloriously, Number Two sported a head full of hair styled in a shiny pompadour the length of a footlong sub. "Number One!"

"Yes, what is it, Number Two?" Chinen stood from her chair, alarmed.

"Calm down, Number Two! Catch your breath," admonished Number One, patting Number Two on the back. Number Two was not quite as muscular and tall as Number One, but still very well-built and formidable. "What happened?'

"I was going to fetch Thundercock from the groomer's," began Number Two as he smoothed down the dress of his maid uniform, and Number One instantly scowled, "When I saw this man barge into the station next door. He looked like some kind of criminal, so I got concerned since Number Three is getting lunch from there, and..."

"Why would a criminal go to a police station?" Chinen interjected. "Number Two, my love, please use some common sense."

"Boss lady's right," Number One agreed, gruffly. He was likely still smarting from the reminder of Thundercock's existence.

"They're fighting!" Number Two said breathlessly, skipping over the rest of his story. "They're fighting in the station break room!"

Chinen blinked. "What?"

* * *

The sun woke him up. A gap between his curtains that had sunlight beaming down on his face. But even when he was already awake, Shirabu spent the next fifteen minutes laying in bed, staring tiredly at the ceiling.

Seconds had blurred into minutes, minutes to hours, and hours to days.

How long had it been?

Since—

Pressing a hand to his mouth, Shirabu leaped out of bed and to the bathroom, hurling into the toilet. A wave of dizziness struck him later, from the abrupt way he had stood. All the energy fading from his body, he slumped against the toilet seat, one hand reaching for the flush handle. He wasn't strong enough to push it down all the way.

Shirabu lived alone. After graduating from university, he had continued his internship under Dr. Miyazawa, which had turned into his graduate job. It wasn't quite the job he had seen himself doing in the past, but maybe it was better that way.

He would be a doctor for the dead, not the living.

Eventually, he stood, flushed the toilet, and stared into the mirror. It had become his daily ritual, to see how deep and the dark the circles around his eyes had become. He had lost some weight, too, and it was visible from how gaunt his face was.

Shirabu lived alone.

It was fitting.

But it had been four days since he had last showed up at work, and he couldn't stay at home any longer. Miyazawa may have excused him and filed absence forms for him, but he needed to come back at some point.

After brushing his teeth to rid his mouth of the stench of sour vomit, he showered (scalding hot) and rubbed his skin with his bath sponge until it was red and raw. Breakfast would have to be on the go, Shirabu decided as he got dressed—collared, long-sleeved shirt and long pants secured by a belt. He almost forgot his identification tag, but grabbed it on the way out.

The door locked automatically behind him as fresh air hit him in the face. It smelled of oncoming rain. Shirabu took his umbrella from the umbrella stand outside his apartment and opened it before descending the stairs.

Work was two trains and a bus ride away.

Shirabu put his earbuds in the moment he stepped into the train. There were no seats left, so he stood, his black backpack squished between his back and the inside of the train. Occasionally, he would look out the window, at the world that passed him by at impossible speeds. Sometimes, they would dip and duck into tunnels, but the darkness was always brief.

If he imagined hard enough, the world would spin backwards. Time would rewind, and he would find himself back in high school, topping his classes with each exam and assignment. Pen scribbling at breakneck speeds across lined paper, hiragana, katakana, and kanji all merging into unfamiliar lines and circles. And when he looked up—

Goshiki beamed at him. There were no exams now. It was lunch time, and Goshiki had come up to the second year classrooms to visit him. Kawanishi was there, too, lamenting over his Japanese History marks. Funny, because Kawanishi had edged him out out of a spot in Class 5, the bastard.

Shirabu blinked.

He was back in the train again.

There was a weight tied to him. He could feel it whenever he walked, dragging against the ground. He could feel it on his shoulders; he struggled not to hunch. It was somewhere in his chest where it was heaviest—a spot in his heart that pumped concrete into his bloodstream.

It was when he got off at his first stop that he bought a burger from a mini food vendor on the platform. It was wrapped in clear plastic, and not the kind he normally saw in fast food restaurants like WacDonald's or Kentucky Fried Poultry. There was no telling what the processed patty was made of, but Shirabu didn't care. He just unwrapped it and took a small bite, waiting for his next train to arrive.

The train came just as he was finishing up his food; he tossed the plastic wrap into the trash and hopped on.

His journey resumed.

Shirabu wasn't here. He was watching himself through another's eyes, it felt like.

Just an observer in his own life.

 _After all_ , he thought bitterly, _When have I ever been anything more than a bystander?_

The monotony of his work commute was a comfort, but also a curse. Deep within him, something burned and seared at him— _how dare everything be so normal when he's dead._

Followed by: _How am I allowed to feel that way? I'm not. I shouldn't be._

Because all Shirabu Kenjirou knew how to do was abandon his friends.

* * *

Obata was the first to greet him at work. Shirabu was ambivalent to that. While Obata was far from his favorite person, she wasn't an awful choice of company. He first encountered her in the lobby, where she was speaking (or flirting) with Secretary Jay. Shirabu used the manual entrance instead of the automatic doors. They turned at the sound of the creak.

"Shirabu-san?" Obata gasped. "What are you doing back so soon? Miyazawa-sensei said that you would be gone for a week. It's only been four days."

"I'm aware," Shirabu snapped, ignoring the way she frowned at his tone. His _tone_ was the least of his concerns right now.

"You have no right to speak to me that way," Obata said, icily. It was the first he had ever seen her genuinely angry. "Not after you stole my bike and trashed it at a fucking crime scene!"

Right. That. In the scope of things, Shirabu had forgotten about that.

Obata was clearly expecting him to dodge or make a snippy remark, but Shirabu just sighed. "That was wrong of me. Sorry."

With that, he stalked past them.

"What was that?" he heard Obata say to the secretary before their voices faded to nothing. "He never admits to being wrong. _Ever_."

His lips twisted into a mirthless smile. _You don't know me as well as you think you do._ If she knew the real him, she would probably be disgusted. Obata was just like that. Righteous, headstrong, and stubborn.

Miyazawa was in Lab 3. A suicide case. The parents had refused an autopsy at first, but changed their minds a little before the original funeral and cremation date. The body was already further in decomposition than any forensic pathologist or coroner would have liked, but Miyazawa had always been good at making do with things.

When the door slid to the lab slid automatically open, Miyazawa glanced up from the body. The bottom half of his face was covered by a surgical mask; Shirabu fished one out of a box snapped it on as well.

"What are you doing?" Miyazawa asked, calmly.

"What does it look like?" Shirabu retorted as he pulled on some gloves as well.

"You're not supposed to be here, Shirabu-kun."

_Then where? Where am I supposed to be?_

He just wanted to disappear.

"Go back home," Miyazawa continued, more sharply this time. "After what happened, you shouldn't be here."

He'd been reprimanded. Miyazawa had saved his ass from punishment, but he hadn't gotten off totally scot-free from scalding words from the police for his interference at a volatile crime scene.

Shirabu peered around Miyazawa, at the body.

_A suicide case._

_The parents had refused an autopsy at first, but ch—_

"Stop looking!" bellowed Miyazawa, rounding on Shirabu and blocking his view of the body. "If you don't leave immediately, I'm calling security."

Behind the mask, Shirabu's bottom lip trembled.

"Was it instant?"

The anger melted away from Miyazawa, replaced by pity. "Almost." He knew Shirabu would not appreciate a lie.

"I see. How much did it hurt?"

"He... He would have been in great pain in those last moments of his life."

Shirabu squeezed his eyes shut. "I... I see."

The body's eyes had been closed.

It took all of his willpower to stop himself from bursting into tears in front of his mentor and boss. Every muscle in his body was tensed, prepare to just run away from it all. But Shirabu wouldn't. Not this time. He was going to make himself see it. See the consequences of his actions right in front of him.

He opened his eyes.

"There have been rumors," murmured Miyazawa, not quite looking at him. "People are saying you knew this man. That's why I signed you off for a week. I didn't want you to see him. You should know why. We have protocols for these situations."

Operating on a loved one was never easy.

Miyazawa knew it the best, even if Shirabu didn't.

"Shirabu-kun. I'd like to leave. You shouldn't be here."

Shirabu swallowed thickly. " _He_ shouldn't be here."

Miyazawa sighed deeply. "Shirabu-kun, I'm so sorry. But if you don't leave right now..."

"Fine. I get it." He took off the gloves and mask. "But I don't want to forget this moment. Ever."

"That is unnecessary punishment."

Something in him snapped. "It _is_ necessary! If I'd just made it in time, if I'd just checked up on him once in a while—!" He hiccupped a sob, covering his mouth in shame. "Fuck... _Fuck! Shit, I'm sorry..._ " He needed to get it together. This was no place to cry.

"Come," Miyazawa said, quietly. "I'll escort you out."

He kept his word, but only as far as the break room.

"Make yourself a coffee," he instructed, Shirabu giving him a weary glance. "You need it. Help yourself to a doughnut as well, if you'd like. Then you must leave."

It was mid-afternoon. Some teams would be having their break right now. _He_ would be having his break right now. He, Obata, and Smith. Brought together by Sakusa's request of a penmanship test and a blood test.

The whirr of the coffee machine filled the empty break room.

So quiet, without anyone here. So strange and alien, and hauntingly vacant.

Feeling more tired than ever, Shirabu sat down at a random table and sipped his coffee. He had put three shots in. Maybe he wouldn't sleep tonight, but he didn't care. He was better off that way, anyway.

Sleep brought dreams.

Dreams brought back the past.

The double-doors opened.

Shirabu turned his head to the left, his gaze meeting Smith's surprised one.

"Shirabu-san?" Smith blinked, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "What are you doing back already?"

"I had nothing else to do," Shirabu intoned. "I just..." He stared at the table. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"Oh, well..." Smith sat down with him, putting another one of Kimiko's homemade lunchboxes on the table. He opened it up, revealing octopus sausages once again. And Shirabu almost _cried_. Smith didn't seem to notice. If he did, he didn't say anything, which Shirabu was grateful for. "You're always welcome here." He meant it. Shirabu could hear the genuine warmth in his words. With his chopsticks, he held a sausage out to Shirabu. "Would you like one?"

Shirabu's throat bobbed. "Yes," he said, hoarsely. "Thank you, Smith-san."

"It's no problem." Smith deposited the octopus sausage in his open palm.

For a moment, Shirabu just peered down at it unblinkingly. It was such an unforgettable icon—a food he had seen every day at school. The Shiratorizawa cafeteria had served them on Tuesdays, but students had always preferred the ones their parents made. It wasn't exactly the food itself—it had been the sentiment it carried. Shirabu hated it.

He popped it in his mouth. Rather clumsily, but he didn't care. Smith wouldn't judge him. He wasn't the type to. Shirabu was, but Smith wasn't.

It had no business being as tasty was it was.

"Shirabu-san? Are you okay? You're—" Smith squinted at him "—crying."

Shit, was he? He lifting one hand to touch his cheeks. There was a fat drop sitting on his bottom eyelid, and he wiped it away roughly. "I'm fine," he muttered. "It's nothing."

_"Here!"_

_"Ew, what are those?"_

_"Geh! They're octopus sausages, of course!"_

_"Boy, did the lunch ladies fuck up today."_

_"... I made them myself."_

_"Huh. No wonder. Why not just buy them?"_

_"Because then they don't taste as good!"_

_"You're an idiot, Goshiki."_

Shirabu knew, then, that he had outstayed his welcome. Smith was kind, but he didn't want to try the older man's patience. "I'll get going," he announced, fighting to keep the wobble from his voice. "It... It was good seeing you again, Smith-san."

"You, too, Shirabu-san—"

The doors slammed open, and Shirabu almost spilled his coffee all over Smith's lunchbox. Obata, perhaps. She walked around like she owned the place. Shirabu turned to look.

And Smith barely snatched his food out of the way in time for Shirabu's coffee to splash across the entire table. The cup rolled on the tabletop for a few seconds before falling and shattering on the floor.

Coffee dripped from the table.

"You!" Semi Eita screamed, lunging for Shirabu. Shirabu didn't try to run, simply letting Semi's fists curl around the front of his shirt. A moment passed with Shirabu staring into the furious depths of Semi's dark eyes.

Then Semi punched him across the face.

It was harder than Shirabu had expected, and he actually fell to the ground, just missing the pile of glass that his cup had been reduced to.

"Shirabu-san!" he heard Smith cry in alarm. "Oi, what's your problem?! Go away!"

But Semi just sneered and shove Smith aside, marching up to where Shirabu was curled up on the floor. "Come on!" he goaded. "Why don't you fight back, huh?! Punch me, too, I _dare_ you!"

Shirabu blinked slowly. "I..."

Before he could continue, however, Semi squawked, having been lifted up by the armpits like a disobedient cat by Smith. The American made it seem almost effortless, like Semi weighed nothing. A friendly reminder than Smith was well over six feet tall and weighed just shy of two-hundred and fifty pounds. Smith locked him into position, not even flinching when Semi started to kick at his shins with his heel.

"Let me go!" he howled. "Let me go, you damn old man!"

"No," said Smith. "I don't think I will."

"Semi..." Warily, Shirabu stood. His entire body was sore from the fall, but he ignored it, stepping up to where Semi was being restrained. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."

" _Fuck_ your sorrys!" spat Semi, baring his teeth in a snarl. "He's dead! And you didn't do shit! You stood by and let it happen! You let it happen, _Shi-ra-bu!_ "

And his grief and guilt crumbled beneath him, a wave of anger surfacing with a vengeance. "I tried!" Shirabu roared. "Fuck, I _tried_ , okay?! I... I wish I could have been faster! I know what you're thinking. If I'd just been faster, if I'd gotten to that fucking rooftop on time—!"

"No! That's not it at all!" Semi sounded even more upset. "That... That's just the tip of the iceberg, you fucking asshole!" He let out a harsh laugh. "God, you don't get it, do you? I thought you were supposed to be smart! It wasn't what you could have done that way... It was what you _didn't_ do for the last six _fucking_ years!"

Semi was wrong. Shirabu did get it.

 _God_ , did he get it.

It had been Shirabu who had distanced himself from everyone after high school. It was Shirabu who had ignored every text and call, not even opening messages when the notifications displayed something about Goshiki.

"You treated him like... like some virus!" Semi hissed, poison lacing every word. "But he wasn't! He was just... He was just a _kid_ , and he needed his senpai! What were you so afraid of, Shirabu? What were you so damn afraid of, you fucking coward?!"

"I know." The anger had faded. Now, it was just numbness. "I know I'm a coward. But more than that... I was selfish." The back of his skull burned hot, and before he could even comprehend the feeling, he felt wetness fall from his eyes. "I was... so damn selfish."

Semi glared, but didn't say anything.

The doors opened again, this time with Obata, Secretary Jay, and some unknown man wearing a maid dress all stomping inside.

"What the hell is going on?!" yelled Obata.

"He's caught a criminal!" said the man in the dress. He was holding a large pile of food. Shirabu didn't know where he came from, nor did he care to find out.

Secretary Jay lifted his hand to his earpiece. "I'll call some officers down—"

"No, don't." The words flew out of Shirabu's mouth before he could even process them leaving his mouth. "Smith-san, let him go. He... He won't try anything again." _Not here, anyway._

Reluctantly, Smith released Semi, who landed on his feet and fixed up his leather jacket.

"Shirabu," Semi said, his eyes boring into his soul. "I hate you."

"I know."

"If you think that you could have stopped him from jumping just by being there, you're _wrong_." Semi clenched his fists. "It was already too late for that."

He felt it like a punch to the gut. "I know." He knew, but it hurt anyway.

It hurt so damn much.

Semi turned on his heel and marched himself out of the doors, glaring daggers at Smith when he almost bumped into him. Shirabu was half-tempted to follow him, but decided against it.

There was nothing he could say to Semi right now.

Absolutely _nothing_.

Uncertainly, Obata reached out. "Shirabu-san..."

"I-I'm gonna go." Shirabu hated the stammer in his voice. More than he hated himself, and Semi, and Goshiki, and Sakusa, and fucking _Washijou._ Maybe he should have offered to clean up the mess he had made, but Secretary Jay was already reaching for the broom and pan in the corner of the room. "Sorry." He passed his hand through his hair, restless. " _Sorry_."

On the way out, he thought he saw _her_ , but he didn't care.

Ishigami Yua turned back once at his retreating figure.

* * *

_"Shirabu-senpai!"_

_He turned back, the corner of his lip tilting upward in a smirk when he saw him._

_"Hey, Goshiki."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you're not imagining the Chinen Lads in JoJo style, you're doing something wrong. Cue flashback for next chapter~
> 
> Updates have been continuing with shorter intervals as of late, because I am finally free of my duties as a student. Feels good. Hopefully, this trend continues.
> 
> Prosecutor Karasuda himself is a reference to the J-drama Unnatural, where a prosecutor of the same name features. Although I started SS before watching Unnatural, I found that Unnatural was an excellent reference for what I wanted to produce in my story.
> 
> Note: There has been a name mentioned this chapter. Terano Maki. And she will be a little more prominent than just a faceless name in the future, especially during Sakusa's backstory arc.
> 
> I actually really wanted to write SemiShira into the story, but I think I've just destroyed my own agenda. Maybe it will be possible to repair in the future. I really don't know. I am possessed by the spirit of spite and 'desire for content where I am my own demographic' when I write, so I'm pretty much just as much in the dark as the average reader.
> 
> Comments and feedback are love! <3


	38. Flow of Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People were often disappointing, and he was no exception.

**December 5th, 2012**

There was something comforting about the bells that signified the end of school. They were already five days into winter, and it would be Christmas and New Year's before Shirabu knew it. The days were getting shorter, and the air chillier.

Shirabu sighed. _Fuck. Cram school._ He'd almost forgotten. He was self-assured enough to know that he was smarter than the average student, but his good marks could not be kept in that pristine state by natural talent alone. His worst subject, undoubtedly, was math. The equations that had once come easy to him as a child were now indecipherable without extra help. Wednesdays were the only days he had to attend tuition for math, but one day was too much sometimes.

"I wonder if it'll snow tonight?" Shiratorizawa's first year beauty, Shiroma Yubin, was asking her friends as they walked through the gate, Shirabu trailing behind them a little.

"Maybe," said her best friend, Erina, twirling her umbrella.

 _Snow, huh?_ Shirabu glanced skyward, impassive. Not exactly his favorite weather, but not a terrible thing either. He stopped outside the gate, waiting for Kawanishi to join him. Kawanishi was his only companion in cram school. They both went on Wednesdays for math class, which was total bullshit. Kawanishi was at the top of the grade in math, and Shirabu highly suspected that he only went to spend time with him.

It warmed his heart, actually, but he would never tell Kawanishi that. It would be like admitting he had a secret, invisible weakness.

Five minutes later, Kawanishi appeared, adjusting the strap of his backpack. He halted when he saw Shirabu, lifting a hand in greeting. "Yo."

"You're late," Shirabu said without preamble.

"Yeah, yeah. I had to clean up the classroom today. It was my turn."

Their shoulders bumped as they walked to cram school together. It was a small centre downtown, just a twenty minute walk away from school. They spoke of mundane things together, talking lazily and slowly. Neither he nor Kawanishi were particularly chatty people, and Shirabu was just fine with that. Loudmouth idiots like Goshiki were unbearable to be around on most days.

"Did you do the homework packet?"

"Yeah, but I didn't get the last question. Can I copy off yours?"

"Bold of you to assume I wasn't asking because I didn't do it."

Shirabu rolled his eyes. "I almost forgot you just come to fuck around." _Smartass._

"Not true," Kawanishi protested, mildly.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

The sun was setting in the distance, behind the clouds; it painted the town pink and purple. They passed by a taiyaki stand—they bought one taiyaki each, the flanks of the fish-shaped pastry sprinkled with white sugar. Shirabu's had a traditional red bean paste filling, while Kawanishi's was chocolate.

"You have the taste buds of an old man," drawled Kawanishi before taking a bite out of his snack.

"Please." Shirabu scoffed. "You're the one with the taste buds of a _toddler_."

"Chocolate is ageless. Only old people eat red bean."

"Not only is that statistically untrue—"

A white car zoomed past the pedestrian crossing just as Shirabu and Kawanishi were about to cross. Kawanishi cussed after the driver, shaking his fist and almost dropping his pastry as a result.

"Dumbass! Watch where you're going!"

"Relax," Shirabu placed a hand on his shoulder, "Not like getting pissed is gonna stop people from being stupid."

"As if you have room to talk. You get pissed all the time."

"Did I ever say I didn't?"

Tuition dragged. At one point, the new Japanese tutor entered their classroom by accident, but that was the only mildly interesting thing that happened. Their math teacher reviewed last week's concepts, went through new content, assigned homework, and sent them on their way.

It was just another day.

When Shirabu and Kawanishi emerged from the building, it was already fully dark. The town was lit up, however, and storeowners were already starting to decorate the fronts of their shops with Christmas lighting.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?" asked Kawanishi, scrolling through his LINE newsfeed on his phone. "Not gonna lie, I'm craving some Korean right now."

"There's a pretty authentic tteokbokki restaurant nearby," Shirabu recalled. "I'll have to text my mom, though, gimme a sec."

His mother was generally lenient with him as long as he gave her reason not to doubt him. As expected, Shirabu's mother gave him the green light to eating out with his friend, and he nodded to Kawanishi.

"Think we could sneak a drink?" Kawanishi whispered to him on the way there.

"We're in uniform, dumbass."

"So?"

"We'll be _suspended_ if we get caught."

"Or worse: _expelled_." Kawanishi was probably quoting some kind of popular media. Shirabu had known him long enough to guess that, but he couldn't pin it down. He never had been into trends and such, too busy with volleyball and studies. Shrugging it off, Shirabu led the way.

The restaurant was small, but cozy. And the best thing about it was that the food was cheap. They ordered two plates of tteokbokki to share—one extra spicy and the other extra cheesy. To Kawanishi's dismay, Shirabu also ordered them two sparkling apple sodas.

"Joykill," accused Kawanishi.

"I am _not_ letting you drink on a school night. Alcohol tastes like shit anyway."

"One day," Kawanishi said seriously. "I'm gonna make you a drink that's so good it'll feel like orgasm."

"Please never say that to my face ever again."

When their tteokbokki and sodas arrived, they immediately started eating and drinking, both boys ravenous. Neither of them spared much time for conversation as they ate, though—at one point—Kawanishi said through a mouthful of rice cakes, "Oh, hey. Yamagata's uploaded a new pic. Two, actually." He had his phone in one hand, and his chopsticks in the other.

"Show," demanded Shirabu, eyes at half-mast. Kawanishi did, flipping his phone around so that Shirabu had a clear view of the image. The first one was a picture of Semi snoring away in their shared dorm, offensive doodles and lines decorating his face. Shirabu snorted. "Typical." The most recent post of Yamagata's was him and Semi standing outside a barbecue restaurant that the team frequented, usually after intense matches with their top competitor in the prefecture: Aobajosai. If Shirabu looked closely enough, he would be able to see dark pen smudges on Semi's cheeks.

"Another year's almost over," said Kawanishi, sighing. He placed his phone face-down on the table, nibbling on a single tteokbokki. "I feel like someone just hit the gas pedal on life."

"Calm down, old man, it's not the end yet. It's only the fifth. And what do you mean? My life's been a total drag as of late." His muscles were still sore from doing the one hundred serves and diving receives that Coach Washijo had assigned them after their defeat against Aobajosai.

"Oh, yeah?" Kawanishi raised an eyebrow. "You know you'll probably be captain next year, right?"

That gave Shirabu pause. "Maybe."

"There's no 'maybe'. You were this year's main setter, and you're gonna be next year's, too, unless some prodigy turns up out of nowhere. Ushijima thinks highly of you, and I have no doubt that he's recommended you to Washijo. Besides," Kawanishi smirked, "Can you think of a better candidate? I'm too... _me_ , and the other second years aren't even on the regular rotation."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Taichi," Shirabu stated, mildly.

"If you insist, but we both know that you're the better candidate between the two of us."

"Okay... But why are you bringing this up?"

"Are you ready?"

Shirabu set his chopsticks down, lifting a napkin to his mouth to wipe sauce away. "Ready...?"

"To lead. I don't wanna freak you out or anything, but it's a pretty heavy responsibility."

 _Me? Lead?_ Well, the idea itself wasn't laughable or anything. Shirabu had been leader plenty of times in his life. The middle school debate team ("You're a champion when it comes to bitching," one of his teammates had said one time), elementary school calligraphy club... _But never in volleyball. Never ever._ Being setter may have meant that he was the control tower of the team, but the one operating said tower had been Ushijima and the other third years. Uncertainty hit him like a wave, almost knocking him out of his seat, but he managed to compose himself enough to say, "I'm sure it'll be fine. To be honest, I'm not really keen on being captain, but... There's no point worrying about it. If it happens, it happens, and I'll learn on the job."

"Nice attitude," Kawanishi remarked. "Just don't end up half-assing it."

"Tch. As if you can talk about half-assing shit. You half-ass _everything_."

"Hence why I get to dodge the soul-sucking role of captaincy." Mockingly, he lifted his glass of apple soda. "Your move, Kenjirou."

* * *

**December 6th, 2012**

It was a chilly morning, and Shirabu arrived to school with a checkered woolly scarf wrapped around his neck and a pair of white earmuffs stretched across his head. A text from Kawanishi stated that he would be running late today, so Shirabu had gone on ahead without him. He was less than a foot past the gates when a strange feeling crossed him. Stopping in his tracks, he scanned his surroundings warily.

_Where the hell is Goshiki? He better not jump me or anything._

Like Shirabu, Goshiki wasn't here on a full sports scholarship. He commuted to and from school every weekday, though he did get his lunches and textbooks for free from his _partial_ scholarship. Normally, Goshiki was ahead of him, but sometimes the first year would race up to Shirabu from behind.

There was no sign of Tendou, either, which was unusual but welcome. He probably had some third year things to do.

_I'm all alone, then. That's fine. Preferred, actually._

"Nice scarf, Shirabu-senpai."

He turned around. "Oh, hey... Shiroma-san, right?"

Shiroma Yubin, also by herself today, nodded. "I'm surprised you remember me."

Had they encountered one another before? Shirabu couldn't quite remember, but it seemed that they had, in the past, formally met. _But why is she talking to me? Because her friends aren't with her?_ "Are you? Surprised, that is."

A tiny smirk. "Not really, no. You catch on quick, senpai."

"Hmph."

Shirabu trudged on, shoving his hands into the pockets of his brown winter coat.

"Hey, wait up, senpai!"

Shirabu sighed irritably. "What?"

Shiroma tossed her long, wavy silver hair back over one shoulder as she caught up to him. "Have you seen Goshiki-san? He accidentally left his homework on his desk. I found it while cleaning up the classroom."

"Oh, Goshiki?" _Of course I can count on him to leave his things behind so mindlessly..._ "I haven't yet, but I can pass it on to him if you want." _Like hell I wanna do that._ But what else was he supposed to say?

Shiroma perked up. "Oh, that'd be perfect! I knew I could count on you, Shirabu-senpai."

"Stop doing the weird sucking up thing. It's annoying."

"Your scarf is ugly as fuck."

"That was fast. Did you know that I don't give a single flying fuck about your opinion?"

"That rag around your neck was basically begging to be called out, senpai. It's a fashion disaster."

Shirabu's lip curled in a sneer, one which Shiroma gladly returned.

"Fighting this early in the morning with your junior, Shirabu?"

The two of them whipped around to see Semi coming from the direction of the dorms, Yamagata trailing behind him.

"How's your face?" Shirabu asked.

"Ugh. Don't remind me." Semi glared at Yamagata over his shoulder, the latter pretending not to notice as he whistled an innocent tune.

Mischief lit up Shiroma's eyes as she regarded the third years. "Oh, I saw that!" Of course she had. Shiroma was probably following all of the even remotely attractive boys in the academy on Picstagram. "Nice photoshoot you had going on there, Yamagata-senpai."

"At least someone liked it." Yamagata grinned.

"Where's Ushijima-san?" It was a question Shirabu asked a lot, but it never got old. Not for him, anyway, though it did get collective groans from the others, including Shiroma. Had his appreciation for Ushijima spread that far?

"Tendou's trying to coerce him out of bed," Semi told him. "Apparently, he was up all night reading one of Tendou's jumbo-sized manga. All ads included, by the way. Last I heard, he was on the final five pages, so he should be out soon."

"That's honestly super impressive," Yamagata admitted.

"It's Ushijima," said Shirabu, as if that explained everything. And, in a way, it did.

"He sounds fun," commented Shiroma, and _oh my god, why are you still here?_

It was a struggle for Shirabu not to deck her to kingdom come.

They talked the rest of the way to the main building and to class. Luckily, they dumped Shiroma off on the first floor, where the first year classrooms were, before Shirabu was left behind on the second floor. It was strange, Shirabu thought as he sat down, having not seen Goshiki all morning. He was too used to insulting Goshiki at least three times before eight o'clock. But now he was seated in his classroom, the rest of his classmates steadily streaming inside in their winter gear. Beanies, jackets, and scarves were removed as someone in the back row turned on the gas heater. Shirabu was one of them, shoving the scarf that Shiroma had so hated into his bookbag.

The day passed uneventfully.

As the sun set, Shirabu pulled his scarf on and hiked to the gym, where the first year training camp was still taking place. _That Goshiki,_ he thought with no small amount of annoyance, _Not answering any of my texts and forcing me to come here... If the others see me, they might drag me into a practice game._ Normally, he wouldn't have minded, but he was feeling in need of some alone time today.

Shirabu slammed the doors opened, yelling, "Goshiki! Come get your damn homework, you forgetful punk!"

Heads turned.

His own teammates aside, he recognized some of them.

Kindaichi and Kunimi from Seijoh, Tsukishima from Karasuno, Koganegawa from Date Tech... _Never mind them!_ "Have any of you guys seen Goshiki?" His black bowl-cut was noticeably absent from the many heads of hair.

"Goshiki is not here," reported Ushijima in his usual monotone manner, approaching Shirabu with Tendou by his side. "It is... strange."

 _Ushijima thinks it's strange?_ Shirabu nearly did a double-take. When Ushijima showed concern, it meant that things had escalated to actually being concern-worthy rather than just being blown out of proportion.

"Wakatoshi-kun has a point," added Tendou, stroking his chin in thought. "That kid would never miss an opportunity to practice with us old boys."

The coaches, Anabara and Saitou, joined them in the mini circle they had formed. Saitou, in particular, looked exceptionally grim. It startled Shirabu. Saitou was normally easygoing and relaxed about, well, _everything_.

"I'm afraid Goshiki-san won't be coming to camp anymore," Saitou said in a low voice. "I'm going to have to ask you boys not to ask any questions or cause any kind of stir for now. His family has requested some privacy about his situation for the time being."

 _What?_ Alarm bells rang in his head, clear as day. "But..." Shirabu trailed off at Saitou's stern expression. "Fine. Will he be back soon? At least answer me that, please." _What did you do Goshiki? What happened?_

"We don't know," Saitou replied, truthfully. "Washijo will be addressing this soon as soon as he gets the greenlight. For now, boys, please don't bring this up."

"Understood," Ushijima said. "Right, Tendou?"

"Hm?" Tendou looked surprised that Ushijima had asked for his affirmation. "Oh, sure. Anything for you, Wakatoshi-kun."

Shirabu just nodded, tense.

Saitou sighed in relief. "Thank you. Your parents or guardians should be getting an email tonight about the same thing."

And that was that. Anabara invited Shirabu to participate in the camp, but he politely declined. There was something draining about Saitou's reveal, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something very wrong had happened to Goshiki.

For the rest of the day and into the night, Shirabu dutifully did his class assignments at home.

* * *

**December 17th, 2012**

Over a week had passed since Shirabu had last seen Goshiki. Training camp had ended, and—as far as Shirabu knew—Goshiki had not turned up for it ever since the first day. He would not go so far as to say he was _worried_ for that fool, but...

"What are you doing here?" Shirabu asked when Semi sat down in front of him for lunch in his classroom.

"What? I can't keep my kohai company in my last year?" Semi retorted. "But..." He dropped his voice to a whisper after looking around to see if anyone was listening. "Listen, man, I'm fucking worried, okay?"

"About Goshiki?"

"Who else?" Heaving a sigh, Semi opened up his lunchbox on Shirabu's desk, revealing octopus sausages. Shirabu snagged one off him, chewing slowly and enjoying the decadent flavor.

"You should be more worried about your exams," Shirabu told him, opening up his own lunchbox. Pork cutlets with rice.

"I've been scouring online. Newspapers, even." Semi ignored his jibe. "Anything I could get my hands on, really. And..." He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I found this." He took out his phone, pulling up a photo he had screenshotted from the internet. It was from a local tabloid, detailing a hit-and-run that had happened on the fifth of December.

Shirabu's hackles rose. "Why are you showing me this? What... What are even the odds of it being Goshiki?"

"Can you be serious with me for a second?" snapped Semi.

"I am being serious!"

"Really? 'Cause all I see is you trying to deflect away from the problem at hand."

"There's no _problem_ for me to deflect." All Shirabu wanted was a peaceful high school life. Was that too much to ask? Why was Semi insisting on bringing up Goshiki now?

"You're gonna be captain next year," Semi began, and Shirabu groaned.

"Not _this_ again. I've already heard enough about this from Taichi..."

"Shut up and listen, will you?" Semi scowled. "Us third years won't be around anymore to keep things in order."

 _You never did much order keeping to begin with,_ Shirabu wanted to say, but held his tongue. "And?"

"I want you to look after him," Semi said, chewing rather violently on one of his octopus sausages.

"No."

"No?"

"Goshiki's a big boy," Shirabu said, sardonically. "He can look after himself. I won't treat him like a special case."

"And what if he's hurt?"

"You just said it. It's all an _if_. Look," Shirabu jabbed his chopsticks at Semi, making him recoil, "He probably just has a bad flu or something. It's winter. People get sick. He'll be back in all his muscle-headed glory, and you'll just look like an idiot for even trying to suggest that he might be..." Shirabu hesitated before shaking his head. " _Anyway_."

Semi grimaced. "What is your _deal_?"

"What?"

"It's like... You're trying to sweep this all under the rug."

"I'm not," Shirabu protested. "You're the one that's making a big deal out of nothing. You're considering only the worst possibilities."

"And you're considering only the best."

At that, Shirabu's lip curled into a smirk. "We're Shiratorizawa, aren't we? We _are_ the best. Just relax, Semi. Goshiki's fine."

"Tch." Semi took one of Shirabu's slices of pork, probably to pay him back for taking one of his sausages earlier. "For everyone's sake, I hope you're right."

"Of course I am."

* * *

**March 15th, 2013**

Shirabu stood near the front gates of Shiratorizawa Academy, watching families and friends take photos and exchange presents and memories. It was not his graduation, but his upperclassmen's. A group of (former) third years bantered as they walked past him and out the gate, carrying their diplomas with them. Beside him, Kawanishi followed them with his eyes before saying to Shirabu, "I'm gonna miss these lugs."

"Funny," Shirabu replied. "You should tell them that."

"Nah."

"They won't know, then."

"Well, good. I'm not the type to engage in this sappy shit, and I won't be starting today."

Shirabu chuckled. "You're an idiot, Taichi."

"So are you," Kawanishi jabbed back, "Why don't you talk to them instead of just standing here with me?"

Uncomfortably, Shirabu shifted. "It'd... be like intruding, won't it?"

"Dude. Just go. You're the only second year that's close to them, anyway. Yuno and I aren't in the _inner circle_." Kawanishi nudged him in the side, adding, "Semi's there."

Shirabu frowned. "So?"

"He's your favorite senpai, isn't he?"

"Everyone knows Ushijima is my favorite senpai, Taichi. I thought you were better than this."

"I know you better than everyone else," Kawanishi insisted, "Even better than yourself, probably. I know you think Ushijima's swell, but... Semi's a bit different from the others for you."

"Now, where did you get that idea from?"

"I can tell just by looking." Narrowing his eyes, Kawanishi closely inspected Shirabu, leaning in. "Your face is red."

"Because it's cold!" snapped Shirabu. "God, Taichi, what are you trying to insinuate?"

"You know perfectly well what."

"Taichi. I am not in love with Semi."

Kawanishi widened in his eyes in feigned shock. "Did I ever say that? Goodness gracious me, I was simply trying to say that you have a special, strictly heterosexual connection with him because you're both setters, not because you want to _bone_ him."

"You piece of shit! I know exactly what you were trying to say, so stop playing innocent! Fucking bastard. I'm not gay."

"You're definitely not straight, either. But we can discuss the finer points of your sexuality later. The third years are coming over."

Kawanishi was right—Tendou, Ushijima and Reon were making their way through the crowd to them. They stopped in front of the two second years, all of them exchanging short greetings.

 _Where did Semi go? He was with them before,_ Shirabu found himself thinking as he talked to Reon about the logistics of picking a vice-captain. Ushijima was engaged in mostly one-sided conversation with Tendou and Kawanishi.

"Well, we should get going~!" Tendou announced at one point, dragging Ushijima and Reon with him. "Be good, children!"

"Goodbye!" Kawanishi yelled after them, Shirabu merely waving in farewell. Once they were gone, he shook his head at Shirabu. "Missed your chance, dude."

"He wasn't even with them," grumbled Shirabu, tucking his chin in his scarf.

"Disappointed?"

"Will you drop it if I say I am?"

Kawanishi shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Then yes." His ears were burning. "But only a _little_." Which made sense. _It wasn't like we got along swimmingly anyway._ He did not, as Kawanishi had put it so crudely, want to _bone_ Semi. He shuddered, but it wasn't entirely from displeasure at the idea. _Goddammit, Taichi. Look what you've done now._ "I want soup."

"Wanna get outta here, then?"

"Definitely. Let's invite Yuno, too, so he stops me from assaulting you with a hot liquid. I'm too young for prison."

"Good idea, Kenjirou, thanks for looking out for me."

And as they drank beef bone soup together in a small shop on a wintry afternoon, Shirabu did not think of Goshiki.

* * *

**April 2nd, 2013**

The collar of the uniform was starched with its newness.

 _Number one_ , Shirabu thought, holding up the shirt in the changerooms. _Ushijima's old number_.

And now it was _his_ number.

When he emerged, Kawanishi, his vice-captain, by his side, he saw that there were an abundant amount of first years present in the gym. Try-outs were always a bore, but a necessary one.

Washijo saw him and gestured him over.

"Shirabu," Washijo started, his thick brows furrowed. "I need ya ta come to the hospital with me."

"What?" Shirabu stared. "Coach? Is something wrong...?"

"It's Goshiki. He asked for ya."

It was like a truck had hit him, smashing his bones apart and leaving him a bloody paste on the road. Goshiki... was in the hospital? Had Semi been correct, then?! No, he couldn't have been right. What were the chances? The odds? The statistics of that happening to _Goshiki_ of all fucking people—

"Shirabu?" prompted Washijo.

"I—er, yes. Of course I'll come." _What the hell is going on here?!_

"Good. I'll drive ya."

"What about try-outs?"

"Kawanishi and Saitou will take care of it. I trust their judgement."

"Where are you going?!" Kawanishi called when he saw Shirabu leaving with Washijo.

"I'll tell you later!" Shirabu shouted back.

The car ride was ruled by awkward silence. Washijo was a steady driver, but wasn't one to make conversation with anyone, let alone a high school student less than half his age. So Shirabu simply stared out the window, zoning out and imagining all sorts of horrible, nasty scenarios that could have befallen Goshiki. His own morbidity spooked him, but he couldn't stop. Not when there were so many questions surrounding just what had happened to Goshiki, like a miasmatic mist.

"I think," Washijo suddenly said, glancing at Shirabu through the rearview mirror. "That you deserve to know what happened. It's not like ya ain't gonna find out eventually, anyway."

Shirabu swallowed a lump in his throat. "So... What did happen?"

"Hit-and-run. The driver was never caught, and Goshiki..." His features hardened. "Well, you'll see."

He decided he didn't like the sound of that.

The rest of the journey was all a blur of countryside scenery fading to urban landscapes to Shirabu. Washijo parked in the basement lot, and they took an elevator up to the hospital. As they walked down white halls drenched in the scent of antiseptic, Shirabu's heart pounded dangerously beneath his chest. It had been months since he had last seen Goshiki. What would he look like now? Would be be emaciated? Malnourished? Skeletal? Gods.

They stopped in front of a nondescript door. The numbers read: 1408.

 _Stop. You're scaring yourself._ Shirabu took a deep breath. _He'll look fine. He'll look normal._

Washijo knocked once on the door before entering.

Shirabu exhaled sharply at the sight of him.

Relief was the first thing he felt.

Because he was right—Goshiki looked absolutely normal, if not a bit tired. He turned his gaze over to them when he noticed them come in. "Coach," Goshiki croaked, voice hoarse with disuse. "And Shirabu-senpai... You came."

Shirabu trotted up to the bed, filled with a newfound confidence. Honestly, he didn't know why he had been so scared before. Goshiki was okay. "I heard about your little accident," he said. "Geez, Goshiki, you really oughta be more careful next time. So what's the deal? Broken ribs...?" He clamped his mouth shut when he saw how pale Goshiki had gotten. That stupid, stupid fear rose in him again. "Goshiki? Hey, Goshiki?"

"Step back, son," Washijo said, irritable. "It ain't as... simple as that."

 _What am I missing? Why aren't you telling me anything?_ Tightly, Shirabu nodded and stood back to give Goshiki some space. "I'll save you a spot, you know," he added as an apology for invading Goshiki's air before. "On the team. Once you come back—"

"That's not happening," Washijo deadpanned. "And Goshiki knows that, too."

"... What?"

Silently, Washijo lifted the blanket.

There was an empty space where Goshiki's right leg from the knee-down should have been.

"Oh," Shirabu said, softly. "Oh." _Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh my fucking god._ "Y-you..."

He wanted to throw up. Maybe cry. Maybe both.

_How could this happen?_

This wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

_Why are you being so nonchalant about it, coach?_

Goshiki offered them a wobbly smile. "It's... fine."

"No," Shirabu said sharply. "It's not."

The smile disappeared.

"He'll never play volleyball ever again," droned Washijo, almost cruel in his indifference.

Shirabu expected Goshiki to burst into tears. Scream, maybe. Anything but the ghost-like silence that he had wrapped himself in, eyes sunken, cheeks sallow and knuckles white. He'd been deluding himself before. Goshiki didn't look fine. He looked tired, weak, and broken.

Slowly, Goshiki sank down against his pillow, burying his face in his hands.

It occured to Shirabu that Goshiki had already done those things. Had already cried, and screamed, and cursed the world at how unfair everything was. He had already done all of those things without his presence.

"You said you wanted to see me." Shirabu's voice sounded hollow, even to himself.

"You were the only one," Goshiki said, "Who I thought of."

"Oh."

And, selfishly, Shirabu thought, _Why is this happening to me? Why did I have to come into his mind? Why not Kawanishi? Or Yunohama? Or even any of the other damn first years!_ He was not equipped to deal with this. A teammate— _former_ teammate, he corrected himself—who had lost everything in one fell swoop. _How? How am I supposed to comfort him? What about his parents? Why... do I have to deal with all this?_

"I admire your heart," Washijo said to Goshiki. "And your passion. But you won't convince us."

 _Does coach think that Goshiki asked for me so he could beg his way back to the team?_ Shirabu blinked at the old man, stunned.

Goshiki's lip trembled. "Will nothing work, then? Will nothing work?!"

"I'm sorry. But there is no longer a place for you on the team."

Blunt and straight to the point. Shirabu and Washijo were alike in that way. But Shirabu didn't think he would ever be able to say those words to Goshiki. Ever. They needed to be said, but... It was just too cruel. Everything was just too damn cruel.

"You insisted on him coming, and I obliged. But our decision is final."

"No," Goshiki pleaded, voice nary a whisper, " _Please_."

"I'm sorry, Goshiki."

The tears started. The tears that Shirabu had been started, and he couldn't look at him. Crying and pleading and unable to accept that he could no longer go back to the life he had once had. Tears formed in Shirabu's own eyes, but they never fell. He wouldn't let them. _God,_ he begged silently, _Please, stop. Please, please, please._ The longer Goshiki cried, the more Shirabu realized that this was their new reality. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to have this... this damn epiphany. _Why am I here? Why am I here? Make it stop. Please._

Shirabu wanted to cover his ears. Block out noise of the pain and the suffering.

_Go away. Go away._

All he had wanted was a peaceful life.

_Go away, Goshiki._

* * *

**July, 2013 — March, 2014**

Goshiki came back to school in July. He would've had to relearn how to walk again, Shirabu guessed, with his new prosthetic leg. But Shirabu didn't have time for him. He was working hard and working smart. Shiratorizawa had lost to Date Tech in this year's Interhigh qualifers, much to Shirabu's ire. How was he supposed to continue Ushijima's legacy like this?

The pressure was on. Exams and volleyball dominated his life, and he had little time for anything else. Sometimes, he would see Goshiki shuffling down the hall in the corner of his eye, but he never said hello.

_Just ignore him. He's not your teammate anymore. He's not your problem._

His gut churned.

_Not. Your. Problem._

Shirabu had enough on his plate to deal with. It wasn't as if Goshiki had ever been his friend or anything. There was no obligation—absolutely _none_ —for Shirabu to continue to acknowledge him.

_(Is that really true, though?)_

_Shut up._

Shirabu pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat through a terribly boring English lesson. The teacher was a young British man who had secured his teaching post sometime last year. His Japanese was accented, but bearable.

They didn't make it to the Spring Tournament.

That honor went to Date Tech _again_ —it was certainly their year, wasn't it?

Shirabu decided to resign from the team. There was no point sticking around, even if Kawanishi had a few words to say about it.

"Are you kidding me?!" Kawanishi threw down his towel in the locker room one day. "We only have a few months left, so why're you quitting already?"

"Have you forgotten that we have exams coming up?" Shirabu inquired, icily. Ever since the news of Goshiki's accident became public to the school, his relationship with Kawanishi had been strained.

"That shouldn't be an issue. You're smart, Kenjirou. You're gonna become a doctor, aren't you? You already took your medical school exams—"

"I've changed my mind. I don't think I can be a doctor for the living." Goshiki's devastated, pitiful expression flashed through his mind, and he gripped the hem of his jersey tightly before pulling it over his head.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I'm looking into forensics." Dealing with the dead would be better than the living. The dead didn't make such faces, didn't express emotions like sadness or joy.

Kawanishi gazed at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Then, he said, "You've changed, Kenjirou."

Shirabu began to button up his uniform shirt. "Hm?"

"Ugh. Forget it." Kawanishi tossed his towel in the laundry bin and hauled one strap of his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."

Changed? Had he? It was... disconcerting to hear, at the very least. _I don't think I have. Taichi doesn't know what he's talking about._

Once he had changed back into his normal school uniform, Shirabu folded up his sports clothes and stuffed them into his sports bag. He tied the laces of his sneakers to bag strap, swapping them for his indoor shoes.

Twilight was beginning to gather outside. He crossed the courtyard back to the main building, passing by the stables on the way. A mare whinnied at him. Shirabu found Coach Saitou in the faculty room and handed in his resignation form.

"Are you sure about this?" Saitou asked him.

"I'm sure. I need to focus on my studies, anyway."

His marks had been higher than ever this year. Shirabu intended to keep them that way.

"I'll process it, then," assured Saitou. "Good luck on your studies, Shirabu."

"Thanks, coach. And..." He paused. "Thanks for, y'know, coaching."

Saitou laughed. "The pleasure was all mine, Shirabu, all mine. You were an excellent captain."

"I was? Well, that's good to hear."

He sure didn't feel like one.

Shirabu was at his shoe locker, changing his indoor shoes for his normal shoes, when he noticed some strange markings on another locker. _Are those pen marks? Did somebody deface their locker? The fuck?_ Curiosity piqued, he went over to investigate, his breath catching in his throat when he saw just whose locker it was and what was written on it.

**We lost because of you.**

**ONE-LEGGED WONDER**

**LOSER**

**JUMP OFF THE ROOF!**

**Can he even do that? LOL ^**

And the owner?

Goshiki.

_What am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I supposed to do?!_

Swearing violently under his breath, he fished out a packet of wet wipes he always kept in the front pocket of his bag. He pulled three out and began to wipe vigorously, frustration bubbling within him when the permanent marker refused to go away, instead just smudging everywhere.

_Come on! Why won't it go away?!_

Eventually, the words disappeared. But the remnants were still there. Listlessly, Shirabu tossed the wet wipes into the nearest bin and went home.

* * *

Shirabu graduated at the top of his year, scoring higher than even Kawanishi and a nerdy girl in his class who was known to dominate in all subjects. He was asked to give a speech by the principal, something generic about hard work and never giving up.

Everybody clapped at the end of it, but their applause was little more than background noise.

Names were read out, and awards handed.

"So," Kawanishi said as they all headed outside with diplomas in hand. "It's over."

"It's over," Shirabu agreed. "It's... finally over. Huh."

"What's up?"

"Just surprised that you're talking to me, that's all."

Their relationship had gone from amicable to nearly outright hostile. Shirabu knew they had been growing more distant as of late, but Kawanishi refused to tell him just what was the problem.

"Like we said," Kawanishi answered. "Everything's over. I... don't want to hold any kind of grudge."

"Okay, fair. But will you tell me just where the hell I went wrong?"

Kawanishi gave him a weary look. "Fine. You really wanna know? You've gotten cold. There, I said it. Yeah, you were an asshole last year, but... You were never a _bastard_."

Shirabu spluttered, "What are you talking about? I've always been like this."

"So you were always prepared to treat your underclassman like a disease?"

Ice enveloped him. "Excuse me?"

"I'm talking about Goshiki, just in case it wasn't clear enough." Kawanishi glared at the ground. "You've been avoiding him like the plague ever since he got back. I don't know what went down that day at the hospital, but... He needed your support."

"If he needed it that badly, that just further proves he didn't deserve a place on our team."

"This isn't about the fucking team!"

"Oh, so _now_ we're fighting again—"

"No!" Kawanishi let out a hysterical laugh. " _Fuck_ , Kenjirou. You're so good at gaslighting people you don't even realize, do you? Are we just faceless roles meant to revolve around you? Newsflash, Kenjirou! This isn't about you. You're not the only person in the damn world!"

"Well, why didn't you step in, then?!" Shirabu demanded. "Instead of _preaching_ at me, why didn't you—!"

"I did! I was the only fucking person who gave a shit about him!"

Shirabu blinked at him, dumbly. "... What?"

"I sat with him at lunch every other day. I walked with him to class. I told people to fuck off whenever they gave him a hard time. Maybe... Maybe I could've done more, but it's still a whole lot better than what you did, which happens to be fuck-all!"

"You know what?" Shirabu sneered at him. "Fuck off, Taichi. If I've disappointed you this much, just _leave_."

"Fine. I will." Kawanishi marched forward. "Go fuck a corpse, _doctor_."

"Go get shit-faced at a bar, fucker. God knows that's all you're good for."

Kawanishi never looked back.

Shirabu turned away.

_Good._

He didn't look back either.

The March winds were colder than usual today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: He's actually one of my favourites tho ngl
> 
> We are almost at 10k hits! That's honestly amazing. I didn't think I'd get this many, but it happened!
> 
> Thank you all!!!!!!


	39. Lifting the Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The perspectives of those (mostly) outside of the loop are shown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I KNOW I UPDATED LESS THAN 24 HOURS AGO BUT I WOKE UP THIS AFTERNOON, CHOSE VIOLENCE, AND WROTE THIS UP IN AROUND 5 HOURS AND I JUST HAD TO POST IT OKAY??

**May 12th, 2018**

She found him on the roof of the police station, smoking a cigarette and looking like a hen left out in the rain. Closing the door with the back of her shoe, Ishigami Yua sauntered up to him, leaning against the railing.

"What?" Shirabu asked, tiredly.

"I didn't know you smoked," she mused.

"I started after graduating college." He glanced at her. "But I'm not some addict. I just needed something to take the edge off."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure." Ishigami hummed, tapping her fingers on the rail. "You didn't even greet me downstairs. Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

Shirabu deadpanned at her, ash falling from the end of his cancer-stick. She could understand his reaction. After all, Ishigami rarely left anything she touched intact, and Shirabu Kenjirou was no exception. "I wish I'd never _met_ you."

"Oh, please." Ishigami tittered. "Don't flatter me so much, or I'll end up getting a big head. Besides," her eyes glinted, "It's not like you ever loved me. I was a convenient fuck outlet."

"As if I was anything different to you!" he spat.

Ishigami feigned a wince. "Someone's touchy."

It was in her nature to be in the know about everybody's business. She was destructive, crude, and held no regard for most people. But Shirabu—he'd been one of the only people she had ever encountered whose privacy remained (mostly) respected. She had known nothing of his past, and still didn't. But Ishigami could make a good guess from his character. Right now, she had him pegged as a narcissist floundering with his own moral compass and drowning in an ocean of regret.

Shirabu let out a frustrated huff, smoke blowing from his lips before disappearing in the wind. "You arrived at the worst time."

"Thank you. It's a talent of mine."

Their story was mundane, in her opinion, and not worth telling. It had been a whirlwind of sex and toeing the line between fucking and making love. A then twenty-year-old Shirabu who hadn't known any better and a then thirty-one-year-old Ishigami who liked to play with fire. Sometimes, she felt guilty. Most of the time, though, she just found it funny, especially the way that it had ended.

"I've seen sides of you most people haven't," Ishigami continued. "But I didn't think you'd allow personal feelings to get in the way of the investigation."

"Like I said," he gritted his teeth, "You arrived at the _worst_ time. I'm a fucking _mess_ right now. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I thought you were better than this."

"Fuck you, Yua."

"We did," Ishigami said. "Many times in the past. Aren't you ready to leave it all behind now? If you don't, I'll keep holding it over your head for the rest of your life."

"That's not fair. You _owe_ me."

"And I'm trying to pay back that debt right now, but you seem to be content with sulking at the moment."

Shirabu rubbed his temple. "Ugh. Fine, fine, fine! Tell me about it. Tell me everything."

"Sure. Can I bum a smoke off ya?"

He agreed, and she lit one up with the lighter she always carried in her back pocket. A few moments later, so did he, a new cigarette between his lips and the old one beneath his shoe.

"The evidence for the Oikawa case..." Ishigami blew a ring of smoke. "Was more than likely falsified. The cover-up was good, but I'm better."

"Tch. You wouldn't have even known if I hadn't called."

"I said I'm better, not a psychic. Just count your blessings that the statute of limitations isn't up yet, or else I wouldn't have even checked for you." Ishigami clicked her tongue. "I can already imagine that old man's argument. That his confession was gotten _under duress_ , and therefore isn't accurate or even true. But this? This is gonna fuck him in the ass. And he won't be the only one. Little miss Prosecutor-General won't be safe from the fire." She chuckled. "Oh, yeah. She'll get _burned_."

"Do you hate her or something?" Shirabu asked, rather out of the blue. "The Prosecutor-General."

"Of course I do. She's not even thirty yet, and she's heading the justice system. It's all nepotism. I _know_ it is." Ishigami scowled. "If there's anything I hate in this world, it's corruption."

"You just want to be able to hurt everyone."

"Punish," she corrected. "I want to be able to _punish_ everyone. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Shirababy."

"Do _not_ —"

"Anyway," Ishigami said loudly before taking a drag. "There _is_ one more person who's probably gonna get fucked over by this... And I don't think you'll be happy to hear who it is."

Shirabu balked. "Who?"

And Ishigami smiled, all points and edges. "Your dear mentor: Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito. Sorry, Shirababy, but nobody's perfect."

* * *

_"The number you called is not available right now—"_

"God fucking dammit!"

"Whoa, there. Calm. _Calm_. Dai-chan, _no_ throwing."

In a small cafe in Akasaka, Momoi Satsuki rescued Aomine Daiki's phone from being hurled across the restaurant balcony. "It's been four freakin' days, Satsuki!" He ran his hand through his blue hair, gripping his locks tightly for a moment. "And he's _still_ not answering my calls."

Momoi sighed, sensing just how deeply troubled her friend was. "I don't blame him, to be honest. You know how much he loves his wife." She tucked a strand of her pink hair behind her ear. Since high school had ended for them, she had kept it chin-length, though she was considering growing it out again. _Too much work, though._ "Just give him a few more days, I'm sure he'll call eventually."

 _Wife._ Midorima had a _wife_. The idea was still so alien to her, even after so many years. She and the rest of Teiko's Generation of Miracles had all attended the union, but it simply did not feel real. She supposed, realistically, it was not unusual. They were heading into their thirties, after all, and it was only expected that most of them would have married by now.

"How's the team been?" Momoi asked, hoping to distract Aomine from his ire.

Aomine shrugged, grabbing his milkshake and sipping it. Momoi stirred her own milkshake. "They're okay, I guess." He played for the Solar Rockers Shibuya, a first division team in the b-league. "But Takashi's been a total dick as of late. Just 'cause he has to plan his cousin's stupid wedding..."

Even with all the small talk, neither Momoi nor Aomine felt at ease. They had virtually been left in the dark by Midorima, and they had no doubt it was the same case with the rest of the Miracles with the exception of Akashi.

 _We haven't spoken with Akashi in years,_ Momoi thought, lifting a thumb to her bottom lip. After Akashi had taken over his parents' company, it was only natural that he had drifted apart from them. All of them tried to meet up every once in a while, but it was hard.

"Say, Dai-chan..."

"Hm?"

Momoi looked to her right, at the grey clouds. It would probably rain soon. "Do you think they're happy?"

"Who?"

"Shintaro and Noriko-san," elaborated Momoi. "Do you think they're happy?"

"Who the hell would be happy in this situation?"

She reached across the table to slap his arm. "I mean in general!"

"How would I know?" Aomine complained, digging his pinkie finger in one ear. He flicked a wad of earwax to the ground, much to Momoi's exasperation. "It's his relationship, not mine."

Momoi sighed again, shaking her head. "I should've known better. You don't even have a girlfriend."

"Oi! I'm a busy guy, okay? But..." Aomine scratched the back of his head, brows furrowed in contemplation. "I saw something weird. On the day of their wedding."

"Really?" Momoi's eyes widened. "What did you see?" Truth be told, she was more surprised that Aomine could even recall that far back. All he had done on that day was stand at the snacks table and eat everything that came his way with Murasakibara.

"Noriko-san... was crying."

"That's not unusual. A lot of women cry on their wedding days."

"It wasn't happy crying. I've seen and made enough opponents cry on the court to know the difference. Anyway, I didn't think anything of it... But that might answer your question."

Momoi considered this. "I see... Isn't that sad, then? Everybody looked so happy. Her dad and her sister..."

"Sister?" Aomine echoed. "What sister? I didn't see no sister there."

"I'm surprised you didn't notice—she's exactly your type." It was hard not to roll her eyes. "'Big boobs and juicy ass'. Right?"

"No way, I would've totally seen her if she looked like that!" Aomine closed his eyes, thinking so hard that a bead of sweat formed on his temple. "I did have my eye on a few girls that night... What did her sister look like?"

"Geez, I haven't seen her since then... Gimme a moment. Hmm... She had side-swept bangs, I think? Black hair in an up-do with flowers on it."

"Wait, her?! I remember her! I slept with her that night!"

Momoi gasped, scandalized. At the less-than-friendly looks they were getting from other patrons, she covered her face in shame. "Dai-chan!"

"What? It's the truth." Aomine guffawed. "That wasn't her sister, stupid."

A vein popped on Momoi's cheek, and she held up a fist. "Watch your mouth, mister."

"It was her dad's P.A.," Aomine went on, unfazed by her threat, "I met her a couple of times in my third year of high school. She was a college senior, and worked in a grocery store in Atsushi's neighborhood. Then we met again at the wedding, hit it off, and," he smirked, "the rest is history."

Momoi crossed her arms. "Not only are you incorrigible, Dai-chan, but you're also wrong."

"What?"

"I talked with her," Momoi said. "And Hirakawa-san even introduced her as his oldest daughter."

"Huh? No, that can't be right. There's no way they're related—why would some rich girl be working at a grocery store?"

"Maybe you got the wrong person."

But Aomine was adamant. "I don't get girls mixed up like that, especially ones I sleep with."

Momoi had known him long enough to believe him. Aomine's libido and appreciation for big-breasted women were stupidly reliable. _So why did Hirakawa-san say that she was his daughter?_

Things were getting stranger and stranger.

* * *

"Sawamura? Sawamura!"

Daichi, who had been spacing out at his computer, snapped to attention. "Oh. Watanabe, sorry about that."

Lieutenant Watanabe rubbed the back of his head, a nervous habit of his. "Are you okay, Sawamura?"

"Yeah, I... I've just been thinking."

"Oh, yeah? About what?"

 _A lot of things._ Daichi's face fell, hangdog. Yes, a lot of things had been on his mind lately. Ever since Kageyama and Tsukishima (and Tanaka) had reappeared in his life, his brain had been a mess. In the end, after sorting out most of the mess, he realized it all boiled down to one question: _Am I really cut out for this?_

Daichi offered his subordinate a smile. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Watanabe. How's the drug case going?"

"Pretty good, actually! The stake-out went well, and we should be able to get a warrant from Judge Terano by later this afternoon."

No, maybe he phrased it wrong.

_Is this what I really want to do?_

When he had first entered the police academy back home in Sendai, going into Criminal Affairs hadn't been his intention. But then things went sideways, as they usually did, and Daichi had ended up solving a cold case with Sakusa Kiyoomi when the latter was only twenty. It had earned him early promotions, hence why he had climbed to Inspector so quickly.

But the question still stood, despite his success in the 1st Investigation Division. _Is this what I really want to do?_

He was slightly afraid of the answer he would find.

"Hey, Watanabe," Daichi said suddenly, smiling wryly, "Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

Watanabe stared at him. "Sawamura... You're not dying, are you?!"

"No! It's just that..." Daichi felt like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar for some reason. "I've been thinking of changing divisions."

"What?!" Watanabe gaped. "But... You're doing so well here!"

"Maybe, but... I don't think I'm meant to be here. My heart belongs somewhere else." In Sendai. Within the Community Safety Bureau. With an old friend with silver hair and a mole next to his eye.

"So..." Watanabe wilted. "You're really leaving, huh?"

"I think I made up my mind a long time ago. It just took me a while to accept it."

"Can I ask, then? Can I ask what prompted this?"

Oh god, how would he even begin? Daichi pursed his lips, unsure of how to break his new revelation to poor Lieutenant Watanabe. The man was a lot softer and wide-eyed than most in this line of work. "The higher I go," Daichi said, at last. "The dimmer the light of justice becomes."

"Huh?"

"You know what happened recently, right?"

"You mean the Prosecutor-General's scandal and the director's alleged murder confession?"

 _Alleged! Pah! Backtracking already, are we?_ Daichi schooled his mien into a mask of neutrality. "Yes, that. They got away with so many injustices for so long... And why? Because they had power and influence? What are we, then? Pawns? We're supposed to be enforcing law and order, but it looks like all we serve are those with power."

Watanabe shifted, uncomfortable. "I understand, but... Sawamura, you gotta realize... We'd be out of house and home otherwise. We can still serve justice, but... Can't we just overlook them?"

"Is it really justice, then?" Daichi challenged. "We shouldn't be having to pick and choose. Justice should be blind. We should all be tying the blindfold around her, but it's only being tied by people like the Prosecutor-General."

"We're civil servants. It's not really up for us to decide, is it?"

"No, I suppose not. Which is why I'm leaving Criminal Affairs. I have a lesser chance of being used in Community Safety. I feel like... I'll be able to help more people there."

Watanabe regarded him. "Well, if that's what you want. Good luck out there, Sawamura. But we'll all miss you."

Daichi laughed. "Glad to hear it."

* * *

**May 13th, 2018**

Life went on. The people were still waiting with bated breath about what would happen next, and Makoshima Naoko was no exception. But she hid it better than others. She did not purchase those silly Kindaichi hats, or partake in the current political discourse on social media. She went about her days like she normally did, doing her rounds, helping patients, and filling out forms.

It had been a day since Sakusa Kiyoomi had taken Miya Atsumu home. Absently, as she boarded the train back to her neighborhood, she wondered how they were doing. Were they at each other's throats, or were they getting along like lifelong friends? Probably somewhere in-between, she guessed.

The chaos around her was exhausting. Whether she liked it or not, she was linked to the scandals, no matter how miniscule the connection was. She had had to retrieve and forward a report about Atsumu's physiology when he arrived at the hospital as well as details of his recovery process for Prosecutor Karasuda. It had been draining, having to have to search through all of her files, and she looked forward to letting off some steam for the night.

_Bullshit. I am so sick and tired of all this bullshit._

Why couldn't they just lock the guilty parties up in prison and throw away the key? Naoko realized that she would not last a day in a legal setting, but she digressed. She liked direct action more than the dilly-dallying of power and politics.

She missed Iwaizumi. He would agree with her.

 _I wonder if he knows what's happening out here. Probably not. I'll have to tell him everything the next time I see him._ The prospect of recounting this clusterfuck of events was not at all appealing to her, but it was Iwaizumi. She could deal. _Would_ deal, just for him.

As the train rushed down the lines, Naoko took her phone out to check her newsfeed. After refreshing the page, she found that this morning's articles had been pushed down by several more. Her brows rose.

 **CONGLOMORATE HEAD HIRAKAWA DAIZEN RELEASES OFFICIAL STATEMENT REGARDING RECENT EVENTS** , read the first headline.

The rest were mostly the same.

Idly, she scrolled.

Then, something made her heart jump to her throat.

From a tiny, insignificant tabloid seeking attention came a headline.

**MURDERED HIGH SCHOOL BOY OIKAWA TOORU WAS KNOWN FOR HIS DANGER-SEEKING PERSONALITY...**

Her frame shook with rage, pure and unbridled. _What is this? What the fuck is this?!_

The contents were somehow _worse_.

It was, to put it simply, victim-blaming to the highest degree that Naoko had ever seen. It took great willpower not to hurl her phone at the window in a fit of barely contained fury.

The closing sentence almost made her want to scream.

 _In light of these revelations_ , the author of the article wrote, _is it really fair for us to hand out premature judgement on a man who has nobly built his career upon the ashes of loss and tragedy?_

 _Shō is not the victim here!_ Naoko thought wildly. _He's the perpetrator! How dare you! How fucking DARE you try to blame Tooru!_ Had she been viewing this on paper, she would have ripped it apart by now. Her blood was _boiling_. If she didn't let loose soon, someone would probably get hurt.

Oikawa was _dead_. And people were dragging his name in the mud to spawn controversy for clicks and views.

It disgusted and infuriated her.

Naoko couldn't imagine how his family would feel, seeing this. His mother, his father, his sister, his nephew... _God, I hope they never see this. I hope they never ever see this rubbish._

There was a twenty-four hour gym nearby her studio apartment. As soon as she got off the train, she headed straight for it, her hair billowing behind her in the evening breeze. She walked with a purpose, and it was to—

"Welcome back, Makoshima-san," the man manning the reception desk greeted her. "Just a reminder that your membership expires next week."

"I'll renew it later," Naoko said brusquely. "Have a nice evening."

In the female locker rooms, she tied her hair up and changed into her gym clothes: a simple sports bra and tights. She had finished wrapping tape around her feet and ankles and was finishing up taping her hands when three women strolled in, chattering among themselves. Ignoring them, she shoved her bag into her locker and slammed it shut. It locked automatically.

The combination code was 20794.

The twentieth of July, 1994.

Naoko found a free space with a sandbag.

After she finished her warm-up, she begun.

Her mother had signed her up for karate in the past. She had started at five years old before her style evolved into kickboxing under the guidance of another teacher. Now, at twenty-two years old, she still kept up with the sport. Her job was demanding and stressful—she needed an outlet, and found it in beating the shit out of a punching bag.

Sweat dripped down her body, muscled and streamlined from consistent exercise.

Men and women alike had approached her for her number before.

But the only one out of all of them that she had ever given the time of day was—

Naoko stopped hitting the sandbag, whipping around when she felt his gaze on the back of her head.

With the back of one hand, she wiped sweat from her upper lip. "Didn't think you'd be here tonight."

Matsukawa Issei got up from where he was sitting on the pec deck machine, toweling sweat off his face as he approached her. "It's definitely been a while, huh?" he murmured, slinging the towel over his shoulder.

Naoko held out an arm to stop the sandbag from swinging back into her body. It was fate that had led them to live in the same area in Minato City. They'd gone to the same high school at the same time, but Naoko hadn't expected to ever see him again after graduation. Outside of the gym, though, they rarely talked. It was probably for the best. She had never gotten along with his best friend, Hanamaki, during school, and Matsukawa had always expressed silent solidarity. She looked him up and down, noticing something different about him. "New haircut?" she ventured.

"Oh, hey, you noticed." Matsukawa chuckled.

 _He looks like Sakusa_ , thought Naoko. The parting of the hair was even the same.

"What's with that face, Naoko-san?"

"Nothing." She sucked in air between her teeth. "Fuck. I'm so... pissed off right now."

"Oh?" Matsukawa didn't pry. He knew she would tell him if she wanted to.

"Why are people so stupid?" Naoko wondered aloud, starting up her routine again. "It's always on the fucking internet, too. Nobody I know in real life is that stupid."

"A person is smart," Matsukawa said, serenely. "But people are dumb."

"Hmph."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No." She threw a particularly ruthless punch against the sandbag. "What about you? What have you been doing, Issei-san?"

"This and that," Matsukawa told her, as vague as possible about the details. "The funeral business is booming." He chugged some water from his bottle. "But... It's quiet."

Naoko frowned, though she didn't turn around to face him. She was still concentrating on the punching bag. "Quiet?"

"Life," he clarified. "Life has been quiet. You know, my life used to be loud." A pause. " _Our_ lives used to be loud."

Her heart squeezed. She stopped the bag's momentum again, turning to Matsukawa. "Please don't."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"They weren't bad," Naoko blurted, emotions unravelling like loose thread. "Bad memories don't hurt like this. Only good ones do."

"Are you saying that you don't consider what happened a bad memory?" Matsukawa asked, sounding genuinely curious. "Oikawa... He broke up with you for Iwaizumi."

Yes. Yes, he had, hadn't he? She remembered that it had hurt. It had hurt so much that it felt like she had been consumed by the abyss. _But that was nothing. That was nothing compared to when we lost him forever._ Naoko shook her head. "No. It meant that both of them could finally be happy. I might have hated the two of them for a short time after that, but... I don't hold anything against them. I've never held anything _real_ against them. I... I loved them too much. They were like a second family to me."

Matsukawa's throat bobbed up and down. "Oh. Well... That makes me happy to hear."

Neither of them spoke a word about Hanamaki.

Naoko already knew how much Matsukawa was hurting over him.

She was almost done for the night when Matsukawa asked, abruptly, "Hey, Naoko-san?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think... Do you think you could call me Mattsun?"

Naoko took a sharp intake of breath. It must have been so long. It must have been so long since anyone had called him that. In a way, she felt like some cheap replacement. A pale imitation of the boys who they had both cherished so much. "Drop the honorific with me, then. I hear it enough at the hospital."

A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips.

* * *

Koganegawa Kanji blinked at the news article. He was not one to tune into social media or mass media, but now...

_Ah._

Goshiki's high school photo beamed at him.

_No wonder he never texted back._

Sadness enveloped him.

"You good?" Kyoutani Kentarou's gruff voice reached his ears, and Koganegawa peered up from his phone to meet his fierce eyes. They were in the locker rooms of their home gym—the gym of the Sendai Frogs.

Koganegawa swallowed, unsure of how to feel. "I think so."

"Come on, then." Kyoutani's hand landed on his shoulder. "One more practice for the night. I need to get my power spike down."

"One more practice," agreed Koganegawa, standing up. He was about to follow Kyoutani out of the door and rejoin some of their teammates who had stayed behind for tonight when he noticed Kyoutani had left his phone on a nearby bench. _Oops. I should probably put it back in his bag for him._ It was resting in his palm when a notification suddenly appeared.

**1 new text from Tsuji Runa  
** _Kyoutani-kun, please text me back as soon as y..._

Wisely, Koganegawa pretended he hadn't seen his volatile teammate's private text and deposited the device into Kyoutani's unzipped gym bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Mostly a transition chapter. We'll be getting some of that SakuAtsu soon and Sakusa's backstory! Aomine and Momoi from KnB have also appeared. KnB character appearances are limited enough for me to not consider this a crossover fic, but they do appear here and there.
> 
> SS fun fact: Naoko is RIPPED
> 
> Also I know HQ wiki states that Kyoutani is not an active member of the Frogs in 2018, but I have chosen to ~disregard~ that.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! As I upload this, this story is 5 views away from 10k, so... GOD I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!!!


	40. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo encounters his father's rival, a glimpse into life with Sakusa and Atsumu, and Chinen and her lads interrupt a bonding session in the hospital.

**May 9th, 2018**

"Um."

Kuroo Tetsurou dropped his water bottle in the hallway, ogling the metaphorical excavation site that his dorm had become. A small team of forensics and police officers had overturned the entire place, none of them acknowledging his presence at the doorway.

At least, until, the leader—a sharp-eyed man with frown lines on his forehead—turned his way. "You're Musashi's son."

"That's my dad's name, yes," Kuroo confirmed before picking the bottle up and tugging his earphones out. "And you're...?"

"Prosecutor Karasuda." Karasuda flashed the badge on his lapel.

"Right. And do you have a warrant?"

Annoyance gleamed in his flinty gaze. "Yes, we do, actually. Would you like to come take a look?"

"No, I'm good. Who signed off on it?"

"Justice Terano Maki." Karasuda raised a brow at him. "The university is already aware of our presence. Your roommate, Kunimi-san, is downstairs with one of my subordinates, answering questions."

Kuroo, who had been half-expecting Kunimi to still be asleep on the mattress despite the noise, nodded slowly. "Right... And do you need me to answer some questions, too?"

"Tch. You have the arrogance of your father. If it would not _trouble_ you, I'd like you to stay out here. Someone will come see you soon."

 _Who shat in his cereal? God._ Kuroo made a great show of contemplating his options just to further piss him off. "What if I, like, leave?" He raised his hands in mock-surrender when Karasuda glared hard enough to set him on fire. "Kidding, kidding. I'll be a good boy."

Witnessing law enforcement officers scouring through his shared room was not what Kuroo imagined his morning would be like. He supposed he should have been getting used to having unusual starts to his day by now. The next time he took an early morning jog, he would expect a mariachi band upon his return.

They didn't get much from him. It wasn't like Kuroo knew much, anyway—he was virtually a stranger to his roommates, and he could not say much of Goshiki's character or any unusual behavior he may have exhibited in the days leading up to the hostage situation. In the end, Prosecutor Karasuda and his team seized most of Goshiki's belongings as well as something underneath Kindaichi's bed. Case files, they seemed to be. For whatever reason—courtesy, perhaps—they did their best to restore the room back to its original state. By the time they were finished, almost all traces of Goshiki been cleared, like he had never even lived here in the first place.

Watching the pale sunlight hit the floor from the window next to his and Kindaichi's bunk bed just served to remind him how... desolate this place had become. Which, logically, was silly. It was just a rented dorm. Countless others had lived here before them.

Still, though, it was like seeing the downfall of an empire, or the end of a peaceful era.

Karasuda left him with a business card before disappearing down the hall and into the elevator. "In case you want to call," he said genially.

Kuroo huffed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. _Prosecutor Karasuda..._ He'd heard of him before. His tactics were rather callous, but at least he could be counted on in pursuing a conviction like a starving dog would a slab of meat.

"A product of his time," Kuroo's father, Musashi, had best described him as.

From what little Kuroo had seen of the man, it didn't seem to be any exaggeration. _He's like the personification of sour milk. Blech._ Kuroo tossed the card on the kitchen counter. He was boiling water on the stove for some poached eggs when he realized something. _Oh. Am I gonna be eating alone today? That's no fun._ Eating alone was just too sad. Eating alone knowing what had happened to his roommates was even sadder, and he didn't want to dwell on it. The May Festival was in ten days, at least. Maybe that would lift the mood. For now, though, he just wanted someone to talk to.

So he called Kenma, his best friend since childhood. "Yo. Wanna come over?"

 _"Can't,"_ Kenma replied. _"I have an online meeting with some TV9 streamers today. We're discussing next week's charity stream."_

Kuroo watched the water boil. "Oh, come on. Can't you just ditch?"

_"I know what I do may not constitute as a real job in the eyes of society, but I'm not exactly going to be socializing with some clout-chasing internet shitheads for the sheer fun of it."_

"TV9 is the worst," said Kuroo, just to appease him. "YooTube is superior."

_"And don't you forget it. Oh, Min-T just joined the Tiscord call. Hey, Min. Kuro, I'm gonna hang up now. Hm? Oh, Min, not you, you're all good. What? No, he is not single, and no, his voice is not hot."_

"Min-T thinks I'm hot?"

_"Goodbye, Kuro."_

Kuroo laughed as he hung up, putting his phone back into the back pocket of his sweatpants. _Never change, Kenma._

He was finishing up his hearty breakfast of Eggs Benedict when the door opened, and he looked up to see Kunimi come in. The younger man looked like he had just been through hell, and Kuroo couldn't blame him. He pulled out a stool at the kitchen counter for Kunimi, patting it invitingly, but the latter pointedly ignored it in favor of diving back into bed.

Sighing, Kuroo placed his plate in the sink and squatted next to Kunimi's mattress. "I dunno how to break it to you, but you're gonna have to eat sooner or later."

Kunimi pulled his blanket over his head like a petulant child.

_Poor guy. His best friend got shot on national television._

And wasn't that the truth? A news helicopter had captured the exact moment Goshiki had fired at Shō, only for his aim to be skewed when Sakusa tackled him against the railing. The bullet trajectory had led to a new target, instead—one Kindaichi Yuutarou, whose only crime had been standing at the wrong place at the wrong time. The video had gone viral on the internet in the hours following, and now _#HeroManKindaichi_ was gaining a frightening amount of traction on Tweeter. That and _#guygetsnoscoped_ , but the former tweet had a much larger discussion circle attached to it.

Kuroo sat cross-legged on the floor, wracking his brain on how to get Kunimi up to at least eat and drink some water.

Kunimi lifted his head to blink wearily at him. "I already ate," he rasped.

"You did?"

"Cup ramen at the downstairs convenience store."

 _At least the guy asking questions bought him food._ Food that hardly counted as _real_ food, but Kuroo let it slide this time. "I'll get you a glass of water, then," he offered, starting to stand.

Kunimi grunted.

When Kuroo returned with a cup of water, Kunimi seemed to have fallen asleep. Either that or he was feigning sleep. Kuroo couldn't really tell with him—he was too good an actor. Not wanting to wake him, he left the water on the bedside table before standing back and observing Kunimi rest with his hands on his hips.

His phone rang.

He picked up, grinning. "Hey, honey. Really? Right now? It's literally nine in the morning." Kuroo clicked his tongue. "I would've expected better from Tsukki. What? Lev spiked his drink? Goddammit. Yep. Yep. I'll be there in a bit."

After he hung up, he spread his arms out and hollered at the ceiling, "Am I destined to be everyone's parent today?!"

* * *

**May 13th, 2018**

Sakusa Kiyoomi had a morning routine that he followed down to the last second. His body clock never failed him. He woke up at precisely six-thirty every morning—including weekends—brushed his teeth immediately after, took a shower immediately after _that_ , and—

He stopped at the doorway to the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

Atsumu, who had been fogging up the mirror with his breath to draw random things, turned. "Mornin', Omi-kun. Just exercisin' a little artistic creativism."

"C-creativism?" That was not a word. _Creativism_ was not a _fucking_ word.

"Mmhm." Atsumu squeezed too much toothpaste onto his toothbrush. "Oh, whoops. Eh." He stuck it in his mouth and began to brush languidly, eyes at half-mast.

Sakusa's fist clenched by his side. "That cost me _eight-hundred yen_."

Atsumu cocked a brow, removing the toothbrush from his mouth and seemingly unbothered by the slick, foamy beard that had formed on his chin. "Yikes. No _wonder_ you're so crabby. Next time, just get the one-fifty yen tube."

He pushed down his rising anger. _Remember. He is a guest. More importantly, he's also a witness. This isn't forever. This isn't forever. You can do this._ "I'll keep that in mind."

"Great."

"If I may ask, though, why are you here? There's another bathroom closer to your room."

"Yeah," said Atsumu, spitting into the sink. _Gods_. He turned on the tap, water splashing everywhere as he washed his mouth. "But I like this one better."

"This one's mine."

"This whole house is yours."

Sakusa narrowed his eyes. "Miya. Please go back to where you came from."

"Kobe?"

"No! To your own bathroom!" That mirror would be the first thing to be disinfected. The sink would be next, then the toilet if Atsumu had gotten to it already. Sakusa sighed, rubbing his eye. It was way too early in the morning for this. "Please," he tacked on, woodenly. "I'd appreciate it greatly."

"Hmm..." Atsumu dried off his cheeks and chin with one of Sakusa's face towels. He'd have to disinfect that, too. His lips quirked up, almost viciously. "Say, Omi-kun, you're a bit out there, ain'tcha?"

"Get _out_ of my bathroom," Sakusa deadpanned.

"Alright, alright." Atsumu gathered up his toiletries, presumably to deliver them back to his bathroom. "Since I feel bad, want me to make breakfast for ya?"

He sounded genuine enough, but there was no way Sakusa was going to let him into his kitchen. "Don't. I'll do it."

"No, really, I insist."

"I also insist," Sakusa said. "That I make breakfast."

Thoughtfully, Atsumu frowned. Then he suggested, "How 'bout we both do it, then?"

"What?"

"Breakfast."

"You're my guest. I can't impose on you like this—"

"Don't be so uptight," Atsumu said, breezily. "Come on, Omi-kun, it'll be faster if we work together."

Reluctantly, Sakusa relented. There was truth in his words—it would be more efficient and less time-consuming if they were to combine their skills in the kitchen. His main grievance, however, was the prospect of Atsumu dirtying his kitchen like he had with the bathroom. _I'm going to need to disinfect the whole house after he leaves,_ he thought rather sourly, standing aside to let Atsumu through the door.

Once he had freshened up and changed into one of his favorite turtleneck sweaters and some comfortable trousers, they met each other in the kitchen. Atsumu, who was still wearing the shirt and shorts he had worn to bed last night, had already started, using chopsticks to poke a fried egg around in a pan.

"What do you feel like?" Sakusa asked, keeping a respectable distance from the other man. Atsumu had not showered in the morning. At least he had brushed his teeth and washed his face, though. "Rice or noodles?"

Atsumu grinned boyishly. "Ah... Got any fish, instead? I'm craving sashimi."

"I don't eat raw foods."

"It's not raw. Well, I mean, it _is_ , but it won't kill ya."

Sakusa's brow crumpled. "I refuse."

The blond sighed. "Thought ya might say that. Noodles, then."

As Sakusa stir-fried some noodles with soy sauce and onions in a small wok, his thoughts drifted to everywhere and nowhere. There was something mind-numbing about the state of domesticity he had currently found himself in, his body working on autopilot as he cooked. On the other side of the kitchen, Atsumu was using the cutting board to chop up some fresh vegetables.

"Nice place ya got," Atsumu said, probably for the sake of conversation.

"Hm?" Sakusa's mind was still fuzzed. "Oh, yes."

"Way too big for one person, though. Doesn't it get lonely?"

"Sometimes," Sakusa admitted. "But it's not usually a problem."

"Did somebody else use to live here?"

Sakusa's arm, which had been moving about in his frying, stilled. Stilled, then started again. He turned the heat down. "It's always been just me. Occasionally, my mother visits."

Thankfully, Atsumu had the sense not to inquire about his father. Perhaps it had something to do with his relationship with his own father. Sakusa didn't know which was worse—an abusive father or a dead one. Would not know unless he experienced both sides of the coin.

His father, Junji, hadn't been perfect. No, his flaws had run deep, but he had never shouted at his wife, let alone lay a hand on her.

"Ah." Atsumu stopped cutting before resuming, depositing cucumbers into a small bowl. "Do... Do ya see her often?"

"Not really. We live vastly different lives. My job doesn't normally let me take breaks. Now is just an exception."

"I haven't seen mine since I was thirteen," Atsumu told him, eyes glazed over with unhappy nostalgia. "Dunno what I'd do if I ever saw her again, though. I don't know whether to hate her or not."

Atsumu's relationship with his mother was equally as—if not more so—complicated as the one with his father. Truthfully, Sakusa didn't think he'd know how to feel if he were in Atsumu's shoes, either, so he stayed silent. The topic of parents in this house was controversial at worst, and tentatively touchy at best. He could say with a large amount of certainty, though, that Atsumu _hated_ his father. Sakusa didn't blame him. He hated Atsumu's father, too.

There was a sort of... frailty to Atsumu, which didn't suit him at all. Sakusa didn't like how it looked on him. Atsumu was more the kind to throw everything away in a gamble and crash and burn and laugh while he did it. And, maybe, once upon a time, he'd been just like that. Yes, he'd been just like that—if Atsumu were a star, he would've finished his supernova by now turned into a neutron star.

Atsumu the neutron star. The lackluster, final product of one of the universe's greatest phenomenons.

Sakusa flipped the wok, noodles falling into a long plate he had placed on the counter earlier. He pushed it aside, set the wok into the sink, and put on the kettle. He had a few packets of instant miso soup in his pantry that would sustain them for today.

At his station, Atsumu had finished cutting up the vegetables, using the knife to scrape the last bits of carrot and cucumber off the cutting board and into their bowls.

"Maybe she'll come visit soon," Sakusa suddenly said, making Atsumu turn to him curiously. "My mother, Miya," he clarified.

"Oh, seriously? I wanna meet the lady who birthed a son like you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Atsumu shrugged. "Nothin'. Don't get me wrong—it ain't an insult. But it ain't a compliment, either. It just _is_."

"Hmm..." Sakusa brought his noodles and two bowls of miso soup over to the kitchen table before taking a seat. Atsumu had already laid out chopsticks and spoons. "I think she'd like you. Maybe," he added as an afterthought, before Atsumu's head could get too big.

"No surprise there," Atsumu said, sitting opposite him. "Everybody likes me."

Airily, Sakusa waved him off. "Yes, I'm sure."

They ate in relative silence, the only sound the clinking of their eating utensils and the dull, barely audible thuds of their thumbnails against their phone screens. Sakusa was checking today's horoscope—a habit he had learned from Midorima and one he hadn't been able to break ever since. He tutted in displeasure—Scorpio was third last on the luck rankings today. Out of curiosity, he checked Libra's—Atsumu's. Fourth from the top. Not great, but certainly not straight-up awful like his. Today's lucky item for Libra was a bath towel. Atsumu had already soiled one of Sakusa's expensive face towels this morning with his scent.

He was definitely going out today. He needed to buy Atsumu some toiletries that he didn't have some sort of attachment to.

It would be a good distraction, as well, before he visited Kindaichi in the hospital again.

His usual quality of sleep had taken a hit from the nightmares.

Sakusa did not dream of monsters or ghosts or shadows flickering in the dark. He dreamed of humans and weakness and the inevitable decay of justice. Because justice was a construct of mankind, and all constructs of mankind would eventually stagnate and rot or twist into something terrible and unrecognizable. Either time and translation would be its downfall, or man's inhumanity to man.

_There will always be crime. Always. Justice is the notion of putting bandages over bullet holes._

But it was the only thing they had.

And he had learned that the hard way.

"Right," Sakusa started after he had finished his meal, pushing his plate aside. His belly was warm with soup. "I'm going out to run some errands today. Would you like to come along or stay here?" He didn't know which option he preferred, really—while he was eager to enjoy peace and quiet by himself, doing so would mean that Atsumu had the whole house to himself, and Sakusa wasn't sure if he was comfortable with that idea.

_Not to mention, the last time he was alone, he tried to kill himself._

He would not be forgetting that memory anytime soon—the one of Atsumu sprawled on the moldy carpet of his old apartment, pills scattered across the floor. Carpet? Had the floor been carpet? Or just planks? Maybe he was forgetting after all. But he did remember one thing vividly—Atsumu. _Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu_ —just a whisper away from the kind embrace of death.

Without waiting for answer, Sakusa swiftly made up his mind. "Go get changed. I'll start the car."

"Wha—?! Actually, y'know what, fine. I was gonna say yes anyway."

"Sure."

"Enough of the sarcasm, Omi-Omi, it's unbecomin' of ya."

Sakusa snorted. An ugly, gross snort, but he didn't care at this point. Atsumu wasn't some member of high society he had been trained from birth to impress. He was just a nobody, and that fact brought greater comfort to Sakusa than he expected.

Sometimes, it was better to be a nobody than a somebody—in the same vein, it was better to be a blissful idiot than a despairing genius. But Sakusa was not a true genius—he was just unrelenting. Neither a happy-go-lucky idiot or a genius too smart for his own good, as most people were.

Most people.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was like most people, and yet he did not feel even the slightest shred of a sense of belonging in this society.

It didn't matter, though.

Goshiki's outstretched hand.

Sakusa blinked, and it was gone.

Atsumu had already left the table to change into something more suitable for going out. Sighing through his nose, Sakusa cleaned up.

 _You can't run forever,_ a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like a blend between Midorima and Goshiki taunted.

No. No, he couldn't could he?

_But I'm not running. I'm just taking a stroll in the park._

Heavens knew when he would get back home, though. The park, self-contained, was just too lovely to part from.

* * *

The university cracked down on Yang Risa a few days after the hostage situation. The girl was hauled out the campus, spitting and kicking and shrieking, and Kuroo could safely say that he felt absolutely no pity for her as he witnessed the ugly sight. Oishi Ryoka, who had her arm snaked around his, used her free hand to lower her sunglasses, an eyebrow cocked.

 _I'm judging you_ , said her countenance.

Kuroo stifled a laugh.

They were on a date today, and on the university campus of all places. Oishi, who was used to interacting in very different social circles, didn't mind. She hadn't forgotten her roots. Never would.

"I'm guessing you're off the hook, then?" she said, wryly, as Risa was handed over to the police. A few students were filming.

"The deans weren't pleased with my tweet," Kuroo replied. "Breaking confidentiality and all. But considering how it might have saved some lives that day, they let me off the hook, and even did me a favor."

"Oh?" Oishi's interest was piqued. "And what's that?"

"Letting me stay in the student dorm they put me in to make sure I didn't run off somewhere."

"What?" She frowned. "Why would you want that? I can't exactly fuck you senseless in a student dorm."

Kuroo almost choked on his iced coffee. "There's something a bit more pressing than our sex life in there!"

"Even if I let you top?"

"Yes, and his name is Kunimi Akira."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Maybe," Kuroo said, archly, before sobering up. "In all seriousness, though, I'm worried for him. So I'm gonna stay with him a bit longer. Just to keep an eye on him."

Oishi shook her head. "You're too kind for your own good." Then she reached up to pinch his cheek, making him wince. "But I like that about you."

On the moral compass, they were probably polar opposites. Kuroo was an honest, upstanding citizen, and Oishi lived a life surrounded by debauchery disguised in finery.

Kuroo leaned in to kiss her.

* * *

Kunimi was back in the morning. He didn't say it out loud, but Kindaichi was glad—Kunimi's presence was... calming.

Especially after how he had totally chickened out from listening to Kageyama's interrogation last night.

"How do you feel?" Kunimi asked, a tremor in his voice as he sat down at Kindaichi's bedside.

"It's a dull ache," said Kindaichi. "I've been given painkillers, but not morphine."

"Damn." Kunimi bit his lip. "I got news this morning."

 _News? Of what?_ Had something else happened? Maybe something to do with the Hirakawa conglomerate? He hadn't checked the news since last night, but Daizen ought to have put something out by now. Kindaichi waited, patiently, for Kunimi to continue.

"Goshiki's parents are putting together a funeral service," Kunimi said, at last, and Kindaichi's heart plummeted. "Back in Sendai."

Kindaichi swallowed. "When?" ' _Are we allowed to come?'_ was his second, unvoiced question. And the third: _'What will he be remembered as?'_ Followed by: _'A criminal? Or just Goshiki?'_

"Ten days from now." Kunimi wrung his hands. "I'm not sure if you'll be discharged by then."

"I might be." Kindaichi tried to sound confident. "You know, it's really not that bad. I just won't be able to use my arm for a while." His gaze drifted over to Kunimi's right shoulder and lingered there. "Um... About your shoulder—I, uh... Did it hurt?" He winced. Of course it had hurt! What was he saying?

There was the briefest flicker of amusement in Kunimi's dark eyes. "Yes, yes it did. You _bit_ me, you fool."

Another wince. "I know."

"If Mamoru hadn't been there, we would've been dead meat. The both of us."

"I know. I... I don't know what the hell I was thinking—It was like I'd been possessed." It sounded like he was making excuses, but it was the truth. Even now, with all his memories back, his recollection of that night was not as clear as he would have liked.

"Kindaichi, it's _okay_. Everything's over now." Kunimi paused, then backtracked to amend, "Well, not really, but... We'll get there. There are still things to sort out, but we can do it. We'll do it together, remember?"

Kindaichi smiled wearily. "Of course."

Inwardly, his fears were starting to surface. Fears of facing Goshiki's family, of the possibility that the funeral might be open-casket, and he would see Goshiki's eyes closed and lips parted in death. Goshiki stitched back together and smelling of formaldehyde from the forensics lab.

"We were invited," Kunimi told him, confirming his second question without Kindaichi even having to ask it. "I... I'm not sure if I want to go, though. He and I weren't on the best terms. Or any terms at all, really." He looked away, as if he were ashamed of this. "Sorry."

"I thought you might say that." Kindaichi used his good hand to scratch his cheek. "Is there any way I can get you to change your mind?"

Kunimi pondered on this. "... If you go, I'll go," he said, finally. "Oh, and, um... Yahaba was invited, too."

Yahaba. God, _Yahaba_. His former roommate hadn't even crossed Kindaichi's mind in the past twenty-four hours, but, all of a sudden, Kindaichi missed him with a force equivalent to _love_. Yahaba's absence was more prominent than ever now that they had lost Goshiki, too.

"Obviously, he can't come," Kunimi went on. "I don't have any idea where he is at the moment. I've tried to get in contact with his parents, but they won't pick up the phone."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence, Kindaichi using his thumb to scratch an itch on his pointer finger.

"Did you listen to it?" Kunimi broke the silence.

"No," Kindaichi said, feebly. "But I'll do it tonight." _I swear I will_. "Then I can lend it to you, if you want."

"I—"

Knuckles rapping on the door, then a creak.

"Pardon the intrusion." Sakusa stepped inside, looking the same as ever. It was strange not seeing him in a suit, but Kindaichi was beginning to get used to his casual clothes. It made him look years younger, like his actual age.

Kindaichi brightened. "Sakusa!"

"Hey," Kunimi intoned, scooting his chair aside to make way for the prosecutor.

"How are you?" Sakusa asked without preamble, getting seated beside Kunimi.

"The doctor says that everything's going well," Kindaichi relayed to him, more enthusiastic than before. He wasn't afraid to admit it—he'd missed having Sakusa around, even though it hadn't been that long since they last saw each other. From the way the corner of his eyes lifted, he knew that he was smiling in equal parts relief and gratitude.

Another man—a blond—poked his head inside. "Can I come in, too?"

 _Miya Atsumu,_ realized Kindaichi. He nodded. "Yeah, get in here." It was hard not to do a double-take right in his bed as he saw Atsumu amble in. The man had been in a coma the last time he had seen him, dead to the world.

"So," mused Atsumu, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded Kindaichi. His jacket was hastily thrown on over his shirt and his jeans were dull and faded. Quite the opposite of Sakusa. "You're the hero everyone's been talking about."

"Miya," warned Sakusa.

"I'm no one's hero," Kindaichi said, vehemently.

"Yer right about that. Trust me when I say I know media vultures better than anyone." Atsumu scowled, though it wasn't directed at Kindaichi. "I see they've gotten their filthy claws into you, too."

"People will sell their own mother for a scoop these days," Kunimi opined scathingly.

At that, Atsumu guffawed. "Hah! Ain't that the truth. I'm Miya Atsumu, by the way."

"Kunimi Akira."

"Kindaichi Yuutarou."

They turned to Sakusa, who shrugged. "You guys already know who I am."

"Don't mind him," Atsumu said, mostly to Kunimi. "He's always broodin' up a storm."

Sakusa shot him a withering stare. "Just because I choose not to waste my breath on—"

The door was kicked open.

Kindaichi nearly fell out of his bed. "What the hell?!"

"Number Three, no!" A face that Kindaichi had seen only once in the Public Prosecutor's Office appeared at the doorway, pulling the starched collar of her beefy subordinate back into the hall. "You can't get fined for destruction of property again! Otherwise _I'll_ be the one getting indicted!"

"Chinen?" Sakusa found his voice first. It was colored by bemusement. His brow rose as three muscular men in maid dresses stepped inside with her. "And _company_ , of course." Somehow, he managed to make _company_ sound like _clowns_.

"Sakusa-san!" Chinen clearly hadn't been expecting him. "I am so, so sorry for the disturbance. Number Three here tends to get a little enthusiastic when it comes to the questioning process."

The aforementioned Number Three, who looked like an unholy cross between an effeminate teenage boy and someone's father from the Edo Period, rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. The bald European man standing beside him whacked him upside the head, tutting.

"Ah." Sakusa's confusion disappeared. "You're here for Kindaichi. Would you listen if I asked you to be gentle with him?"

Something about the way he phrased it made Atsumu smirk. Kindaichi's brain was too addled by painkillers to comprehend why.

Chinen straightened, her brow lowering. "I am a professional, Sakusa. I would never try to harm or threaten a witness or a victim. I deeply apologize if that is the impression you have gotten from us."

"Hmm, well," Sakusa turned away from her, "I can't exactly stop you from doing your job. You and Karasuda are working the case, right?"

"Correct. How did you know? You're still, well, you know. Not around."

"I have eyes and ears in the office."

"Ah. Okazaki."

Sakusa didn't deign her affirmation. "We'll be out of your hair, then. Come on, Miya."

"Wait," Chinen stopped them before they could leave, "Miya-san, is it alright if you come down to my office this afternoon? I would like to speak to you as well. I've been dying to, in fact."

"Oh, sure." Atsumu nodded. "I was wonderin' when you'd ask me."

The conversation faded into the background, and Kindaichi turned to Kunimi. Their hands were together, Kunimi's thumb rubbing slow, gentle circles on the back of Kindaichi's palm. His friend was close by, but his eyes were far away, gazing out the window and beyond the skyline. Kindaichi wondered what he was thinking of. Of what had happened, probably. Of what had happened, and what was still to come.

So many things had changed in just a mere six years. _No,_ Kindaichi corrected himself, _things already started changing before that_. And yet, they were still together. Maybe it was naive thinking, but Kindaichi wanted to believe—wanted to believe that their friendship had withstood the tests and hardship that life had thrown their way, battered and beaten as it was.

"You okay?" Kunimi asked, returning back to earth.

"I'll be fine," promised Kindaichi, and he meant it. As long as they were together, he would be fine.

* * *

**May 14th, 2018**

It was five minutes past midnight. He should have been asleep by now, but Kindaichi was wide awake and staring up at the dark ceiling. A nurse had come in to turn off the lights an hour ago.

Kindaichi shifted. It was tiresome, having to lie on his back to sleep. With his injury, he wasn't able to turn over on his side.

His eyes strayed to a square object on his right. His laptop, charging on his nightstand. And on top of it, a plastic-encased disc. Resigning himself to his fate, Kindaichi maneuvered the laptop onto his lap, using his right hand to unplug it and insert the disc inside it. His forearm ached by the end of it, but the pain would go away soon enough.

There were no accompanying visuals. It came up as an MP3 file.

Without his earphones, he put the volume to one-hundred percent, knowing full well how quiet the sound was on his computer.

The darkness a comforting shroud around his shoulders, Kindaichi pressed play and began to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some events for the future are set up AKA Sakusa backstory and SakuAtsu roommates cont. and Goshiki's funeral (and a little something else related to him).


	41. The Tale of Sakusa (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa Kiyoomi reflects on his childhood.

**May 14th, 2018**

It had been harder and harder for Sakusa to sleep as of late. Nightmares aside, the ability of simply falling asleep evaded him, existing just out of reach from his limber hands. So he got up sometime past one in the morning, made himself a cup of warm almond milk, and shuffled to the balcony. The air was bitingly cold outside, but Sakusa stayed there anyway, elbows propped on the railing. His nightshirt, which was just an over-sized long-sleeved sweatshirt the shade of an unripe banana, hung loosely on his frame, occasionally tickling his abdomen.

Basking in the quiet, Sakusa sipped on his milk.

He lived in a rather secluded area in the city, his house built on the top of a small hill. As he drank, he could hear the faint honking of cars in the distance. Tokyo didn't sleep. Big cities normally didn't.

Atsumu had been an excellent distraction all day. It was evident, from both his story and his actions, that he hadn't had anyone to spend the day with like they had today for a long, long time. Maybe Atsumu had pretended Sakusa was Osamu when he deposited an armful of off-brand toothpaste into the shopping cart this afternoon. He couldn't know for sure, but it was on the table.

But now that he was not here—instead in the next room—Sakusa was free to let his mind wander in undesirable directions.

He clutched his mug tightly, not even caring that the heat radiating from the ceramic was starting to burn his palm.

_I miss you._

His absence made him feel small. Vulnerable. And while Sakusa did not like being either of those things, it was undeniably true.

_Komori._

He missed him more than ever.

Komori wasn't even his first name. No, his first name had been _Motoya_ , but Sakusa had always called him _Komori_.

If Komori were still here, he would have never, ever felt this alone. It wounded his pride to admit it, but Komori had been a steadying presence in his life. And when he had passed, Sakusa had unraveled like yarn.

Sometimes, he liked to think what he could have changed. What decisions he could have made to stop the people around him from disappearing forever from his life. It was a useless adventure—logically, Sakusa knew this. But it was one he could not help but indulge in, anyway, from time to time.

 _You would've known what to do._ Sakusa stared out into the night. From here, he could see the stars. A rare sight, especially in a metropolis like Tokyo. _What to say. Maybe, you could've even stopped Goshiki from_ —

No. No, no, no. He would not entertain that thought. It was too dangerous. Too dangerous and awful and plain disrespectful to everyone involved.

Goshiki.

_Goshiki._

His falling figure still haunted his dreams, eyes blown wide and hand reaching for the purple sky—a hand Sakusa would have never been able to catch. He'd been so _hurt_. Shattered to the point where he had thought it would be better to end his life than to continue living it.

_Just like my father._

What had been going through their heads? Sakusa didn't understand. Didn't _want_ to understand, because a tiny part of him feared that he, too, would point his toes toward that path if he understood.

 _Was it my fault, then?_ Sakusa mulled over the possibility. _Did I... push him closer to that edge?_ He shuddered.

And the things Goshiki had said. Oh, the things he had said, without knowing that those would fill his brain tonight and every other night.

 _"Prosecutor... Hah... Haha! Justice_ hinges _on you. But who are you? Who are you to decide what justice is? What it should be?"_

_"What about me? Do I somehow have less of a say, even though I was the one who he wronged? Is that why everyone is trying to stop me down there? How is that fair?"_

_"Why do we follow the law? The law which says its wrong to exact justice on my own terms? Why should the law exist?"_

_"My father does not owe your family justice!"_

Sakusa almost dropped his cup over the balcony, the liquid sloshing inside.

Where had everything gone wrong? He swept through the entire timeline of his own life in his head, but he could not pinpoint an exact time, or even a time period. Maybe things had always been wrong, then.

Vigilante justice was not the answer. Never the answer.

_Then what is?_

Sakusa thought.

* * *

_When he was young—perhaps twelve or thirteen—the old man living next door passed away, and a new family moved in._

_Sakusa watched from the window of his room, impassive, as a couple in their late-thirties came out of the car to consolidate with the movers. Then the green-haired kid came out, pushing his spectacles upward with long, spindly fingers. For whatever reason, he carried with him an a Russian nesting doll, which he was careful not to drop on the sidewalk._

_To his surprise, his father went outside to greet the family. He carried most of the conversation—the boy's mother merely nodded along, while the boy's father seemed to be in deep thought._

_Later, he learned the family went by Midorima._

_The boy's name was Shintaro._

_And their fathers were colleagues._

* * *

**November 25th, 2006**

"I know the secrets to the universe."

Laying in the grass (on a blanket) beside him, Sakusa Kiyoomi turned his head, the coarse material of the blanket irritating his cheek. "What?"

"I said," Midorima repeated, "I know the secrets to the universe."

Midorima Shintaro was _weird_. Sakusa was decidedly unimpressed by his declaration. For god's sake, Midorima was _sixteen_. Four years older than Sakusa was, and he still played make-believe.

When the Midorima family had first moved into the empty house next to Sakusa's, he hadn't expected the green-haired teen to be his quasi-playmate. He was supposed to just have been the neighbor's kid, someone that Sakusa could never know the name of and still keep living. But it turned out that their fathers were friends of sorts, and now they had to be friends of sorts, too.

Currently, the both of them were sprawled on a grassy slope, enjoying the cool November afternoon breeze. Midorima's spectacles had a tint that automatically showed up when a certain amount of sunlight was present in the area. Sakusa thought that was cool. Futuristic, almost.

"You're pretty lame, Shintaro," Sakusa told him, needlessly blunt as he typically was.

"And you're narrow-minded," accused Midorima. "Kiyoomi. Unfortunate, but not unexpected—Scorpios do have a penchant of being realistic to the point of being anal about every little thing. You were born on November twentieth, too—the end of the scorpion. The tail. The _stinger_."

"Awesome." Sakusa did not, in fact, think it was awesome.

"Hm. According to today's Oha-Asa reading, something serendipitous is going to happen to Cancer, so I'll suffer your impudence for now." He pushed up his glasses. Sakusa didn't see why he needed to do that. There was no way his spectacles were slipping off his nose—gravity didn't work that way when one was lying down, even on an incline.

Sakusa was skeptical. "So those are the secrets to the universe, then?"

"Pretty much. But," Midorima sat up, grass sticking to the back of his shirt, "'Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity'. Seneca. Things may sway in my favor today, but if I do nothing about it, nothing good will come of it. We reap what we sow, Kiyoomi. Man proposes, God disposes, but the inverse is also true."

"I know," Sakusa said, but he didn't. Not really.

Contrary to the belief of his father and mother, Sakusa quite liked Midorima, even though they had only known each other for a few months. Yes, he was weird and eccentric, but he was also solemn and reliable and clever. Traits that Sakusa saw in himself. He had no siblings, but he couldn't help but imagine that, if he were to have an older brother, he would be just like Midorima.

When he grew up, _he_ would be just like Midorima. Minus the weird parts, of course. It did pique his curiosity, though, how Midorima had built his life around his horoscope.

In the end, Sakusa relented and asked, "What about Scorpio?"

"You'd ought to be careful," Midorima said darkly. "Your luck is the absolute worst today."

Sakusa huffed, blowing a strand of curly hair away from his face. "Of course it is."

"You don't believe me?"

"I do. I just don't know if I should take it seriously or not."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Midorima's lips. "Guess we'll just have to find out. Got any toy trucks in your room? That'll protect you from being the universe's punching bag for today."

"Shut up, Shintaro. I'm not a little kid."

* * *

Midorima and Sakusa returned from the hills when it started getting warmer, the former walking with his lucky item for the day and latter walking with his blanket rolled up and tucked against his side. Sakusa hoped for some of his mother's lemonade when he entered Midorima's garden from the back gate. Marumi and Mahiro were Midorima's parents—both of them perfectly lovely and pleasant people. Mahiro, tall, dark-haired and bespectacled like his son—was an ace lawyer who ran his own firm with two business partners—Midorima and Co.—while Marumi was a socialite of sorts. Or a housewife. Or both. Sakusa couldn't really tell. But Marumi was beautiful, with her wavy green locks and heart-shaped face. She, too, was tall, just a few inches shorter than her husband. Midorima had gotten the best genes from the both of them.

As Sakusa had expected, Midorima's parents were having tea in the garden with Sakusa's own parents.

Sakusa Junji and Sakusa Shiko.

Sakusa padded away from Midorima and into the embrace of his mother. Her slender arms wrapped around his body as she hugged him from her chair, an umbrella overhead. Shiko was wearing one of her matronly dresses that made her look older than she really was. Pinned to her collar was her favorite emerald brooch. It had been a wedding gift from Junji, because a ring apparently hadn't sufficed.

"Did you have fun, Kiyoomi?" she inquired, softly. Shiko rarely smiled or laughed, but Sakusa could tell his mother was happy to see him.

"Yep." Sakusa let go of her, passing her the blanket. "Shintaro taught me about astrology and how to tell clouds apart."

"Oh, did he now? What cloud is that, then?" She pointed up at a random, passing cloud.

Sakusa didn't hesitate. "Cirrus."

"It's _Stratus_ ," Midorima corrected from the side, mildly exasperated at his posturing. "I'm impressed you managed to retain anything at all, though. Mom, do you have any lemonade?"

Marumi pointed to a table behind him, where a tray of the beverage sat. "Over there, dear. Let Kiyoomi-kun have some, too."

Shiko, still unsmiling, said, "You're too kind, Marumi-san."

"Nonsense, Shiko-san. Shintaro sees him as a little brother."

On the other side of the garden, Junji and Mahiro were speaking in low voices. Sakusa, half-seated in his mother's lap, frowned in their direction. His father was usually soft-spoken, but Mahiro less so. What were they conspiring? He wanted to ask, but Midorima was already bringing the tray of lemonade over to him. Sakusa thanked him and took a glass, Shiko following suit.

"Your lemonade is delicious as always," his mother complimented.

Marumi let out a high little laugh, daintily lifting one hand to her mouth. "I'll have to keep my ego in check if you and Kiyoomi-kun keep telling me the same thing every time, else I'd get a swollen head."

"Any idea what our husbands are speaking of?"

"I may have an inkling, but I also have an inkling that we'll find out very soon."

 _Find out what?_ Sakusa thought, impatient to know. _Just say it already!_

"Is this about dad's conglomerate friend?" Midorima asked, brow lowered as he sipped from his glass. Ice clinked.

"Financial analyst and investor," Marumi answered primly. Sakusa understood those words separately. "I suppose you could just call him a conglomerate head, though."

"Conglomerate head?" Shiko went wide-eyed. "That's impressive. _He's_ impressive. He must be, to be a conglomerate head. How old is he?"

"I'm not sure, Shiko-san. I think he's in his mid-forties, but don't quote me on that."

As their mothers gossiped, Midorima pulled Sakusa aside. "Dad told me that an old friend of his will be visiting today," he informed Sakusa. "He's from Sendai, Miyagi."

"They sound stuffy," Sakusa opined rather scathingly. "Rich people always are."

" _We're_ rich," Midorima reminded him, adjusting his glasses.

"Not _conglomerate_ rich. That's a whole 'nother level of rich. More than our family fortunes combined rich." Sakusa would bet his trust fund on that. "But why'd they have to come today of all times? Ugh."

"What's up?"

"My cousin's coming over today," Sakusa mumbled, cheeks flushing slightly. Komori could be so _embarrassing_ sometimes, with his loud voice and wide grin. He liked Komori well enough, but he didn't want Midorima to ever meet him.

At that moment, Shiko stood up and excused herself. "My sister and my nephew should be here soon," she said by way of explanation. "I'll bring them over, if that's okay with you, Marumi-san."

Marumi nodded, airily affable as she fluffed the collar of her mink coat. "By all means, Shiko-san! I would love to meet them. They sound _delightful_."

 _No,_ Sakusa thought bitterly. _You'd hate them. I know you would. You already don't like my mom. You'd hate Aunt Tomoka!_ Aunt Tomoka didn't deserve to be hated, but he knew she would not be welcome here. Midorima Marumi already regarded Shiko with well-disguised condescension, and his mother was articulate and quiet. Tomoka was loud and hearty and every bit just like her silly son.

A question from Midorima sent him back to reality. "What's your cousin like?"

"Hm? Oh. He's..." Sakusa took a deep breath. "He's alright, I guess. Kind of annoying, but don't tell him I said that." That wasn't true. Sakusa enjoyed Komori's company, and he found him funny and easygoing more than he found him annoying.

Midorima smirked slightly. It made him look wicked and conniving, but it was probably just his face. "My lips are sealed."

To Sakusa's dismay, Komori tore into the beautiful, well-kept garden of the Midorima family ten minutes later, nearly trampling over Marumi's prized petunias. He screeched to a halt next to Sakusa, smiling that stupid smile of his. "Kiyoomi!"

He always got like this when it'd been a long time since they last saw each other. Sakusa sighed. "Hey, Komori."

"Motoya," he corrected.

"Komori."

"Still the same as ever, Kiyoomi."

Midorima was observing Komori like a prospective buyer might examine a panting, wide-eyed puppy behind a sheet of glass. Which was what Komori was as far as the older teen was concerned, Sakusa supposed.

"Oh..." Komori had noticed Midorima by now. He was a bit shy around strangers, which was probably for the best, really. It didn't help all that much that Midorima cut a rather intimidating figure either. "Ah, hi there. I'm Komori Motoya."

"Midorima Shintaro," said Midorima, curtly.

"He's my neighbor," added Sakusa. "He's a basketball player, y'know. Went to that fancy sports school, Teiko."

"No way! Seriously?! That's super cool." Komori looked up at Midorima, awed by this new information. "Didn't they have the Generation of Miracles over there?"

Midorima did his weird pushing-up-glasses thing again, compelling Sakusa to roll his eyes. "Indeed, we did."

Sakusa knew it wasn't his accomplishment to brag about, but he couldn't help but say, rather arrogantly, "He's _one_ of them."

"For real? How do you guys do it?" Komori laughed. "Got any game tips to offer, Midorima-san?"

"He plays basketball, not volleyball."

Before either child could overwhelm Midorima with questions and deflections alike, Sakusa's aunt, Tomoka, entered the garden, arm-in-arm with Shiko. His aunt was tall and plump, a stark contrast to his short and weedy mother. Her fashion sense was also a lot less severe than Shiko's Victorian-style skirts and blouses, but also a lot more dowdy and simple compared to Marumi's modern dresses and coats. Today, Tomoka wore a dark brown cardigan that hung low and loose on her round frame.

Sakusa liked Aunt Tomoka. A lot more than he liked Aunt Terano at any rate.

"Oh," Midorima's back straightened as he noticed her, "This must be your aunt, right, Kiyoomi?"

"Yeah," Sakusa confirmed, fidgeting with his hands.

"I'll go and say hello."

As Midorima went off to do exactly that, Komori leaned in to whisper to Sakusa, "The atmosphere's kinda weird, don't you think?"

"How so?" Sakusa hissed back.

"Hey, I'm just saying. Everybody here seems so..." Komori glanced around, brows knitted in concern. "Uh... Well, I wouldn't say _unfriendly_ , but..."

"It's like they're hiding something, right?" Sakusa decided to help him out a little.

"Yeah, that."

Sakusa scoffed, rolling up the sleeves of his blue sweater. _Komori wouldn't survive a day with these people._ He was far too open and far too friendly. They would eat him alive. "It's just how things are," he told his cousin, imperiously. "It's not like hanging out with your friends from school."

Komori looked distinctly uncomfortable. "That's awful."

"It's not that bad. You just gotta know what to say and how to act." Sakusa wasn't surprised Komori thought so, though. People like Komori would never understand. "Don't worry—you don't need to do any of that. Especially around me and Shintaro. We don't care as much about that stuff. Only the adults do." He nudged Komori. "Come on. I need to go greet your mom, and you need to greet mine."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot." Faithfully, Komori trotted after him.

 _This isn't so bad,_ Sakusa thought. He felt like a fool for even entertaining the thought of Midorima's premonition. He had been sure that Komori and Tomoka meeting the Midorima family would be the unlucky thing that happened to him today, but Tomoka and Marumi seemed to be getting along as well as Marumi would allow. Junji and Mahiro had joined the women in the conversation, too, and it almost looked like a normal family gathering. Shiko was content to sit on the side as the others talked, swirling her lemonade in her glass. Sometimes, Tomoka tried to draw her into the conversation. Yes, this wasn't bad at all. Sakusa had been worried for nothing. _I guess Shintaro shouldn't be expecting anything 'serendipitous' today..._

"Hope you don't mind us letting ourselves in!" a deep baritone derailed Sakusa's train of thought, and he snapped his head upwards to see a broad-shouldered man with a square jaw standing on the back patio of the Midorima's home. He must have come in through the front door and the house. Behind him, a waif-like girl lingered, half-hidden by her father.

"Ah, Daizen!" Mahiro welcomed him, waving him down. "It's good to see you again, old friend. Please—make yourself at home."

"Don't mind if I do, Hiro."

Junji stood to his full height, as if the situation had summoned something greater out of him. Excusing himself from the ladies, he joined Mahiro in greeting the mysterious man.

"Who's he?" Komori murmured.

"I don't know," replied Sakusa. _Could it be, though...? Is this guy the rich guest we were talking about earlier?_ It had to be. There was no one else he could've been. That man had even entered the Midorima home without knocking.

"Another friend?" Tomoka was asking Shiko nearby.

Shiko's expression didn't change. "Yes, it seems so. I recognize him—he's Hirakawa Daizen, the head of HNN Foundation. He appeared in Japan Financial last month..."

Marumi laughed one of her cold, sharp laughs. "You've done your research, Shiko-san."

 _So that's who it is._ Sakusa could always rely on his mother to be informed. He loved that about her very much. She kept herself _smart_.

Hirakawa Daizen was not the sort of man Sakusa expected to be running HNN Foundation, one of Japan's most prolific major companies. They produced everything from construction to fashion to some of the best actors and actresses currently on the scene. Sakusa had been expecting someone old and grey—a saggy, bloated old man past his prime, his company the only thing going for him.

But Daizen was young—not even fifty yet—handsome in a ruggedly-distinguished-gentleman sort of way, and... friendly? Sakusa narrowed his eyes. No, not friendly. Or was it? He couldn't get a read on him.

"He seems nice," Komori said, mildly.

"Yeah," Sakusa grunted. "Nice. I guess." He tried to peer around Daizen's shoulder as he descended the stairs to the garden. _Who's that girl? His daughter?_ It was general knowledge that Daizen had two daughters. They had even been mentioned in Japan Financial before. There were rumors that he was grooming one of them, the older one, to be the heir to the company. _Is this her, then? Or is she the spare?_

From the way she held herself, she was most certainly the spare. She seemed so... timid.

Sakusa jumped when Daizen's arm suddenly lashed out and grabbed his daughter's wrist, pulling her forward to greet Junji and Mahiro. The other two men didn't even react to the abrupt motion, even when Noriko's mien was one of obvious discomfort. Had they not noticed? Or did they just see nothing wrong with what Daizen had just done?

"Hiro, Sakusa-san, this is my daughter, Noriko."

Noriko bowed to them deeply. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Sakusa couldn't see her eyes. Her hair was curtaining her face.

"She's lovely," Junji remarked. "You must be very proud of her, Hirakawa-san."

"She _is_ lovely," agreed Daizen, and it was left at just that.

Noriko was released, and she just stood by the fence, not quite knowing what to do with herself. Then she noticed how the women of the gathering had converged by Shiko's table, and hesitated. Then she made her way to them, and Sakusa was about to stop paying attention to her when—

Midorima intercepted her path. "Hirakawa Noriko-san, right?"

Noriko blinked up at him. "That's correct. And you are...?"

"My name is Midorima Shintaro."

"Oh, of course." She smiled sweetly at him. "It's nice to meet you."

"Ahem." Midorima cleared his throat, the tips of his ear pinking slightly. "The feeling's mutual."

_"According to today's Oha-Asa reading, something serendipitous is going to happen to Cancer."_

Sakusa gulped, a numb feeling settling over him. Was this it, then? Was this Midorima's 'something serendipitous'? It sure looked like it.

_"You'd ought to be careful. Your luck is the absolute worst today."_

Nothing bad happened to Sakusa for the rest of the day.

* * *

**June 1st, 2007**

_Ugh_. Sakusa glowered at the two imbeciles shaking their wet hands in the hallway. _Some people have no damn consideration for others._ Weren't there paper towels in the bathroom? Or at least a hand-dryer? There was no excuse for flicking water everywhere. He was going to file a complaint. He swore it. Already in a foul mood, he pushed the door to the boy's bathroom open with his foot, pausing when he noticed an older boy standing by the sink.

Ushijima Wakatoshi wiped his hands dry with a pocket hankie and folded it into his jacket pocket with the damp side facing inwards.

All thoughts of filing a complaint against the last two boys he had encountered flew out of the window.

Ushijima noticed him, turning to meet his gaze.

Slowly, Sakusa nodded.

Ushijima nodded back, then left the bathroom.

Perhaps it was inevitable, that they were to play as opponents in the same match not long after. Scorpio had mid-luck today, according to Oha-Asa. Sakusa stood strong and silent as Ushijima tossed the ball in air before running up.

A jump serve.

Sakusa's tongue poked out the corner of his mouth. He could taste the saltiness of his own sweat from his last match. _It's coming this way. I got it_ —

The ball landed in his waiting arms, then flew to the side and out of bounds.

 _What?_ His brow twitched. _Well, I thought I'd gotten it._

He didn't know how he hadn't noticed before, but Ushijima was a southpaw. A lefty. It was the first time Sakusa had encountered a player with a greater spin than him, and it lit a fire deep in his belly.

"Shake it off!" Komori, his cousin and his teammate and the only one his age who had paid him any attention before Midorima came along, encouraged. "We'll get the next one!"

"Yeah," Sakusa murmured and getting back into position. "I will."

In the end, they lost anyway. They had gone into the third set—Shiratorizawa versus Dosho—but they had lost anyway, 2-1. They had dropped the final set by three points. Three whole points. It burned like cold fire, but Sakusa didn't let it show, shaking hands with Ushijima at the net.

After the match, Komori wanted to buy a sports drink, so Sakusa found himself standing by the vending machine while Komori drank his Potari Sweat. "Maaaan!" Komori huffed. "It's so hard to bump hits from a southpaw!"

Yes, it was, wasn't it? But that was no excuse for either of them. They needed to work harder, work smarter. "... I need to do more bumps," Sakusa shared. He would get that damn serve. He would. He _would_. Sakusa couldn't fight off a grin as he faced Komori. "Let's practice our serve receiving!"

Komori looked mildly horrified. "How many? One thousand?"

" _Two_ thousand," said Sakusa, still grinning, if a little more wickedly than before.

"Kiyoomi, I'll _die_."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"No, seriously, I'll keel over and die!"

Footfall sounded, and Sakusa turned around, his good mood and competitive spirit immediately vanishing. "Shintaro."

What was he doing here? And with _Noriko_ of all people. Ever since Noriko had encountered Midorima for the first time last November, Midorima's attention had been devoted solely to her. _Why? Why, why, why? Why's she so special?_ Sakusa glared. He couldn't even remember the last time he had hung out with Midorima, and the other boy lived next door for god's sake.

"You did good out there," Midorima said, Noriko nodding along.

"We lost," Sakusa said flatly. "Don't pity me like this, Shintaro. Save it for someone else." _Like your girlfriend. She's pitiful, isn't she? Is that why you like her? God, why did she have to see us lose today?_ Noriko was the last person on earth he wanted to lose face in front of. As if she hadn't already robbed Midorima away from him. And for what? She may have appeared pitiful, but she was a schemer. Sakusa knew this.

"I'm not pitying you," Midorima told him, voice a little more frosty and a little more scornful than Sakusa was used to hearing. He was getting cold toward him. Sakusa told himself he didn't care. "If you came to that conclusion, I don't know how to help you."

"I don't even know you anymore. How can you expect me to think otherwise?"

In the backdrop, Komori watched with round eyes, sucking on his Potari Sweat bottle.

"Shintaro, Kiyoomi," Noriko interrupted. "Let's not fight, alright? We're all friends here."

 _Are we?_ Sakusa wanted to ask. There was a Noriko-sized wall between he and Midorima now. "Fine. I'm sorry." _I'm sorry you ever came into our lives_.

Midorima didn't apologize.

No surprise there.

Midorima never apologized.

Or maybe he used to, and and that version of him— _I wanted to be just like you_ —had faded into the depths of Sakusa's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next up—the party and the funeral and maybe the wedding.
> 
> Sakusa's backstory should span a standard 3 chapters.
> 
> I know I updated not long ago, but I've been looking forward to writing about Sakusa for a while now, so this happened. I also woke up at 5pm today. God.
> 
> U.U
> 
> In case there's some confusion, most of the events of KnB have already happened at this point. This is prior to Winter Cup, though (at least until 2007). The KnB cast are older than the Haikyuu cast in this fic.
> 
> ALSO WE HIT 200k YAY!


	42. The Tale of Sakusa (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa attends a party, a funeral, and his own graduation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning for sheltered!Sakusa, who does demonize drug users while cussing out another guy. Also for implied infidelity, cursing, drug references, and shitty people being shitty people.

**April—May, 2007**

Seasons changed. Autumn transformed into winter, and winter into spring. Sakusa entered his first year of middle school, and saw Midorima less and less. Marumi talked with Shiko about how things were going on Midorima's end, though, so Sakusa was not completely out of the loop. It was complicated and Sakusa had little investment in Midorima's business outside their interactions. Whatever had happened with the Generation of Miracles during the Winter Cup was none of his business.

What was this business, however, was how distant Midorima was becoming from him.

"We don't talk anymore," Sakusa told him one afternoon during Golden Week. Dosho was hosting a training camp for the holiday with some neighboring powerhouse schools, and training for today had just finished. Midorima, who had been practicing his three-pointers in a nearby court, had offered to walk him home. "You're never around, Shintaro."

And Midorima? He was... giddy. As giddy as Midorima would ever get, anyway. Sakusa didn't like talking to a giddy Midorima. It was like making conversation with a brick wall. Midorima bounced his basketball in front of him as they walked, replying, "I'm sorry for that, Kiyoomi. But I've been finding myself occupied lately."

"Occupied with what?"

Deep down, Sakusa knew it wasn't a _what_ , but a _who_.

Hirakawa Noriko visited Midorima every chance she got. She had graduated from high school last year, and was in her first year of university. A double degree in criminology and law. Midorima had expressed an interest in the same thing according to his mother.

"Following in the footsteps of his father," she had said, proudly. "I shouldn't have been worried that he would take up that silly sport professionally."

 _Basketball isn't silly, though,_ Sakusa had wanted to say to her.

There was a flush across his cheeks that Sakusa swore hadn't been there before. Spring fever? Or... "It should be obvious by now—Kiyoomi, there's someone I... There's someone I like. Her blood type is compatible with mine," he went on, almost rambling, "as is her star sign. Kiyoomi, I—"

"You have it bad," snorted Sakusa. "It's Hirakawa Noriko, isn't it?"

"Would you like a medal?"

"Just the rush of victory is enough for me." Outwardly, he presented himself as unruffled about Midorima's confirmation of his crush, but it bothered him more than he would have liked. What kind of person was Noriko, anyway? He had only met her a few times, and had talked to her even less. She was timid, prudish, and soft-spoken at first glance. But Sakusa had seen something lurking deeper beneath the skin—something authoritarian, punishing, and paradoxically self-abnegating—waiting to emerge at the right time.

They walked past the courts Midorima had been shooting hoops in earlier. There was a red-haired teen in there today, his back facing them, but Midorima never called out to him. He must have been Akashi, then. The two of them passed by the courts without issue or intervention.

"Kiyoomi," Midorima said, a lilt to his voice as if he had just remembered something. "Has your father told you about the upcoming gathering yet? Your family has been invited."

"Gathering?" Sakusa had heard of no such thing from either of his parents. "What gathering?"

"A social event," Midorima clarified, "Between some of the most wealthy and influential people on the planet. People from Japan and further away. HNN Foundation hosts a few parties at the Mikura Oriental Hotel in Tokyo—the chain is a subsidiary of the company—every year."

"Huh. That's neat, I guess. So my family's going?"

"Hirakawa-san must have taken a liking to your father. Being Japan's top lawyer has certainly done him some favors as well, I'm sure."

Pride bloomed in Sakusa's chest, and he smiled. "Well, that's no surprise. But how does your dad know someone so... like Hirakawa-san, anyway? I didn't think businessmen like Hirakawa-san would associate with lawyers that have no official affiliation to them."

"Ah. It's quite simple, actually—they were close friends back in the day. Met each other in college. Not to mention," Midorima shot him a quick glance, "My father is no stranger to the corporate world. He's the nephew of my great-uncle, Akashi Goichi, the founder of Akashi Corp."

Sakusa frowned. "Akashi Goichi... Whose son was Akashi Sadanaga..." He wracked his brain, trying to remember what his mother had recounted to him from an issue of Japan Financial once. "Whose son was _Akashi Seijuro_." _From the Generation of Miracles!_ _His teammate!_ "Which means he's—"

"My second cousin, yes." Midorima let out a sigh of long-suffering. "We try not to let that be known. After all, our circles outside of basketball are quite different. Now that we aren't in Teiko, we almost never interact outside of matches. Although, lately, he has been... getting better. I suppose I have to thank Kuroko Tetsuya for that..."

So Sakusa wasn't the only one with an embarrassing cousin. Good to know. "Do you know what it'll be like? The gathering, that is." It felt too grown-up to be called a _party_. Parties were for children with cake-smudged cheeks and teenagers with obnoxious music taste and raging hormones.

"I've never been to one hosted by HNN before," admitted Midorima. "This is the first time my family has ever been invited to anything this high class. My mother has some impressive pull, but not nearly this much."

Sakusa guessed that Mahiro and Daizen hadn't reconnected until Sakusa first saw the latter come through Midorima's back door with his youngest daughter hiding behind him. "Is there anything I should know to expect in these things?"

Midorima mulled over his question before answering, "Stick close to Noriko and I. Don't speak to the adults until they speak to you first. You're there to be seen, not heard."

"Got it."

 _Seen, not heard_. The words rubbed him the wrong way, but Sakusa could understand.

He wondered who else there would be around their age.

* * *

**October, 2003**

Sakusa Kiyoomi loved his father. Junji was the pinnacle of justice. Junji saved the innocent from wrongful convictions, and paved the way for criminals to redeem themselves. He'd seen the gifts his father's clients had sent him—flowers and cookies and drawings done by their children.

 _Thank you_ , cards read, _for believing in us._

Junji caught him one day, in his office, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his lawyer pin in his palm and trinkets—from Junji's thankful clients—surrounding him. It was not messy. It was stacked neat and orderly, separated into different piles by category of their nature.

Amused, his father stood over him, craning his neck. "Well, hello there, Kiyoomi. I don't think I gave you permission to be here, did I?" Sakusa had gotten his hair and gangling limbs from him, but his face from mostly his mother. Soft and cherub, while Junji's tall nose, pointed chin, and high brow made him look gaunt and ancient.

Eight-year-old Sakusa Kiyoomi peered up at him, cheeks round with youth and brows pinched. He said, "Did the lady give these to you, dad?" The lady with the wide-brimmed hat who had sobbed in the courthouse, makeup running down her cheeks. Junji had saved her son from a life sentence—had reduced it to _five_.

"Not all of them," Junji said, sitting down beside his son. He sorted through the mess. The first thing he held up for Sakusa to see was a drawing that had been signed by 'Chihiro'. "The daughter of a nursery school teacher drew this for me last year, for saving her mommy from prison." He flipped it around, fondness glowing in his dark eyes. "She should be seven years old this year. Around your age, Kiyoomi."

"Oh." Sakusa picked up folded piece of paper. "What about this one?"

"Just one of many thank-you letters." Junji unfolded it, smoothing out the creases. "'Dear Sakusa-san, thank you for getting my charges dropped. I hope you and your family are doing well. Merry Christmas'. Ah. This was from a civil case I took in '99."

"And this one?"

For the next half an hour, Junji patiently explained the origins of each present he had been given. The majority of them had come from clients, and the rest from the family and friends of clients. The pale sunlight hitting the floor receded. Outside, the twilight sky hung over the world like a dusty pall. Pachelbel thrummed from another room—he was one of Shiko's favorite composers.

Sakusa soaked up each story. Each sentiment that made his heart beat wild with excitement and his hands clammy with sweat. At the end of it all, he looked up to his father. It was his father who had saved all these people. People who hadn't been able to save themselves from the indignity of arrest and the foreboding punishment of prison. He had saved them all.

"Someday," Sakusa vowed, and Junji blinked, slowly, "I'm gonna become a lawyer. So justice can prevail."

The corner of Junji's eyes crinkled, his hand descending upon Sakusa's head to ruffle his curly hair. "As you are now, you're a very antisocial boy. A good-looking one, yes, but an antisocial one all the same. In order to be a lawyer, you'll have to _talk_ to people."

A small pout appeared on his son's face, and he reached up to hug his father's chest. "Really?"

"Yes. But," Junji leaned back against the leg of his desk, "I believe you can do it. You can do anything you put your mind to, Kiyoomi. I know you can."

Shiko called them for dinner.

* * *

**May 19th, 2007**

The Mikura Oriental was about as ritzy and glamorous as Sakusa expected. Not for the first time in his life, Sakusa had dressed up, wearing a tailored, navy blue suit and matching slacks. His shoes were shined and pointed and as dark as Aunt Terano took her coffee. Shiko was in a classier, more refined version of her Victorian dresses, while Junji had donned an adult, tan version of Sakusa's suit.

Daizen and Mahiro met them in the lobby with their children, both men looking as equally refined as Junji.

Instantly, Sakusa left his mother's side to stand with Midorima and Noriko, the three of them murmuring polite greetings.

Daizen took the lead, bringing them into a large hall filled with people. There was a great spread of food, as well, but Sakusa was too distracted by the amount of people in attendance to appreciate the sprawling buffet tables. He cringed against Midorima, who chuckled under his breath.

"We'll find a corner of us to stand in, Kiyoomi, don't worry."

"Yeah, we better," muttered Sakusa, glaring a sizzling hole through the back of one man's blazer. From a quick scan of his surroundings, he could not find anyone his age present. _So I'm the youngest, then._ He wished Komori were here. The gathering would be far more comfortable that way.

"How are you, Kiyoomi?" Noriko asked, more chipper than usual. Perhaps she felt at home in this sort of environment. It certainly wouldn't be her first time attending such a thing, considering it was her father's company that was hosting it.

"Okay, I guess. Can we go stand by that balcony over there? I need some fresh air." And it'd only been five minutes since they'd set foot in the hall. Luckily, Noriko was understanding, and Midorima maneuvered them to the side, making sure Sakusa would have minimal contact with the other guests.

Noriko wriggled the window open, a cool gust of wind blowing through. It made a woman standing nearby shudder, and she turned around to frown at them.

"Excuse me," said the woman, in accented English. Her features were clearly European now that Sakusa got a closer look at her. "Do you mind closing that?"

"Terribly sorry, Ms. Lang," Noriko apologized hurriedly, also in English. Her pronunciation was perfect. "But my friend here," she gestured to Sakusa, who nodded, "just needs to catch his breath for a bit."

"Oh, so you know who I am, do you?" Haughtily, the woman drew herself up to her full height. Sakusa didn't recognize her. She was probably one of the more unimportant guests here.

"I do." Noriko held her gaze, nothing like the pitiful girl she acted like around her father. "You're Petra Lang. Your father owns the most popular hotel chain in Germany. The first one was opened in Friedrichstrasse. I suppose you're accompanying him for the night. I don't think you realize who _I_ am, though."

Petra scrutinized her. "Should I?"

"My, my, color me disappointed." If anyone could make a blatant sneer look ladylike, it was Noriko. "You should know, Ms. Lang, that the Mikura Oriental and the Lang Lagoon are sister hotels. It appears I've overestimated your interest in continuing the family business and maintaining friendly relations with your Japanese counterpart."

What the hell was she talking about? Sakusa's English was passable at best, and he had no intention of learning the language beyond the textbook. He tossed Midorima a glance, but the older boy seemed just as lost as he was. Noticing his stare, Midorima affirmed, "English is not my forte. You'd have to go to Akashi or Kagami for that."

Sakusa had observed them from afar before. Sometimes, Akashi would be in the neighborhood, playing basketball in the community courts like he didn't have his own private one. He had only ever witnessed Kagami play in the Winter Cup before, however. An impressively built fellow, but he had looked as dumb as rocks.

Whatever Noriko had said, it had sent Petra into a flushing mess. "My apologies, Ms. Hirakawa. I... I hadn't realized."

"Evidently. My father, too, will be disappointed about the hands Lang Lagoon shall soon fall into. Your father is retiring next year, isn't he?"

Noriko would never do that. Sakusa knew she didn't like being around her father. But Petra didn't.

"Come, now." The Lang heir offered a wobbly smile that she probably thought was meant to appease. "He doesn't need to find out. I'm sorry for my behavior. I've had a terrible day. I'll just go somewhere warmer."

"Yes, you do that." Once Petra had disappeared into the crowd, Noriko released a breath. "How troublesome."

"It seem like you handled her well enough," said Midorima.

"Doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

And there it was, starting to come out underneath the sparkling ceiling lights. That side of Noriko that Sakusa had intuitively known existed. Underneath Daizen's thumb, she could be as frail and as twee as she wanted to be, but she was just like the rest of them. Of course she was. She was born into this. She was born _for_ this.

The shell of the egg of resentment toward her that nested in Sakusa's heart began to crack.

Midorima could've had anyone.

But he was choosing her.

_She's just like the rest of them._

Sakusa could feign civility with her. He could do it with anyone.

What did Sakusa not like about them? And by _them_ , he meant the people that his family had surrounded themselves with. Yes, they were undoubtedly impressive with their deep pockets and their glittering jewels. Streamlined cars that purred like a jaguar in the Amazon, clothes that spoke for themselves. Tongues of sterling silver meant to mask hearts covered with ugly brown rust. Not often did he ask himself _why_ he spent time with these people, people whose morality had absconded into the night from their gold-plated bodies. Mostly, Sakusa had accepted his company as just another reality of his life.

His father was justice, and so Sakusa would also be. And Midorima. And Noriko, even, if Marumi were to be believed.

They didn't feel like it, though. Noriko didn't feel like justice, and Midorima had stopped feeling like justice a long time ago. Perhaps they had abandoned justice in the pursuit of hedonism, just like _the rest of them_.

Maybe. _Maybe_.

Justice hinged on him, then, if Midorima really had lost his way.

"Oh," Noriko had spotted someone walking through the front doors, "Oh. The Prime Minister and his entourage have arrived. My father needs me—he has planned discussion with the Minister of Justice, and I must be there. Please," she dipped her head to Midorima and Sakusa, "excuse me."

Sakusa whipped around to Midorima before he could call after her. "The Prime Minister? You didn't tell me the _Prime Minister_ was coming?"

Midorima shrugged. "Neither did anyone else, it seems." He fidgeted, uneasy. "What do you think the Minister of Justice wants from her?"

"Don't know. But..." Sakusa squinted. _Wait a second... Is that...?_ "Aunt Terano?"

"Hm?"

"Over there." Sakusa tried to point subtly at a raven-haired, bespectacled lady. She was dressed very smartly tonight, in a long red dress that was neither too revealing nor too conservative. "That's my aunt. She's a barrister." Women in law were a rare sight, and just her profession alone set Terano Maki apart from Japan's wider population. Even rarer were women who rose to senior positions in their firms, and Terano had managed to tick that box before she had become a barrister, too. But Sakusa had other concerns about her on his mind. _Dammit! What's she doing here?_ He glanced around, searching for his mother.

Sakusa didn't know the full story, but he knew Terano abhorred Shiko and Tomoka, her sister and half-sister respectively. He hoped, sincerely, that they—Terano and Shiko—would not encounter one another tonight. Neither of them would ever stoop as low as to have a spat over just seeing one another, especially in a public setting, but Terano always got his mother upset in some way.

"Is something wrong?" Midorima asked, a tad impatiently.

"She and my mom don't get on."

"Ah. Do you want to go find her, then? Your mother, that is."

He felt like a child, but he didn't want to navigate this hall alone. "Can we?"

Sakusa let Midorima lead. They circled around tables and cliques of gossiping adults, but somebody found them before they found Shiko. It was pure accident. Midorima had not been looking where he was going, and his elbow and nudged the upper arm of a young man.

"Oi!" the man, Caucasian features twisting in a terrible glare, shouted. "What was that for?" British. He was British.

They shared a glance.

"What? _¿No hablas ingles?_ " He rolled his eyes before, at last, switching to Japanese. "Forget it. It's not every day I see kids around my age here. Fuck, you sure are tall, aren't you?" The English boy looked Midorima up and down.

Midorima met his gaze. "Your Japanese is very good. Better than I expected from a foreigner."

"Thanks, bud. Mum fancies your little island a little too much. She visits so often and drags me with her all the time. Naturally, I've gotten somewhat accustomed to things around here." He held out a hand to Midorima. "Luke Swan. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Midorima took it. "Midorima Shintaro. The pleasure's all mine."

Luke turned his attention to Sakusa, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. "And who's this little fella?"

It was an effort not to stomp on one of his great big feet. "Sakusa Kiyoomi."

There was mutual loathing, at least. Sakusa could tell by the slightest curl of Midorima's lip—he liked Luke as much as Sakusa did and the latter wouldn't even piss on him if he were on fire and begging for mercy. And judging by Luke's insufferable smile, he thought himself above the both of them, and was probably only even talking to them because they were the only ones around his age.

"Did you come with your mother?" Midorima asked for the sake of making polite conversation.

"Hm? Oh, yes," said Luke, breezily. "You might know her. Angelica Swan of _Swan and Holly_. It's one of the most well-known department stores in the UK as well as most of west Europe. She's over there," he thumbed at a woman in a cocktail dress, probably in her late forties, "making nice with that old inventor, Quillsh Wammy, and his strange surrogate son with the hunched back."

"Wonderful."

Luke decided to halt the mindless small talk right there, glancing around conspiratorially before whispering, "Say, either of you chaps up for a little recreation? It's not like the adults care for us, after all. If we're here just to look pretty and smell nice, we might as well have a bit of fun behind their backs."

Sakusa arched a brow. _Is he saying what I think he's saying?_ Luke was fifteen. _Sixteen_ , at most. His pallid cheeks flushed against his will. _Well, they say that it's normal for teenage boys to explore themselves around this age, but this is too much!_ He was _twelve_ , and Midorima was _sixteen_. The last thing on his plans for tonight was to fuck some stranger at a party. His mother would be mortified and his father would probably shoot himself in the head from shame. "Listen, _Swan_ —"

"Please, just Luke is fine."

"—I am _not_ about to jerk you off behind a wall, and neither is Shintaro."

Luke goggled at him, as if the gears in his head and ground to a halt. Then he threw his head back and laughed, uproariously, as if Sakusa had just told him the funniest joke on planet earth. "God! You really thought I'd solicit the both of you for sex? You're an absolute _riot_ , Kiyoomi." The laughter died down, Luke adding, "No, no. I had something far better in mind."

Midorima glowered. "I don't like the sound of this. Kiyoomi, let's go."

"Ah, ah." Sakusa stiffened when Luke's hand curled around his wrist, pulling him away from Midorima. "At least hear me out, first."

"Let go of me!" Sakusa snapped, snatching his hand away from him. "Don't _ever_ touch me again."

Midorima's glare intensified. "Fine, then. Get it over with so we can refuse you and leave."

And Luke—

Luke flipped his tie upside-down, a small baggie of white powder slipping out from a hidden pocket in his tie. It landed, without noise, into his waiting palm, his shoulders hunching to conceal it from prying eyes. "Voila. Care to join me in the bathroom, gentlemen?"

Midorima blanched. "No. No, no, no. Kiyoomi, we're going; let's go find your mother and—"

Sakusa eyed it, warily. "What is that?"

"Kiyoomi, I _said_ we're going to find your mother—"

"This?" Luke smirked. "It's some of the purest shit you'll find."

Drugs? This was drugs, right? His skin prickled. " _Put that away_."

"Why should I? My last hit is already starting to wear off anyway."

Oh god, had he been high the whole time? Sakusa hadn't even been able to tell—still wasn't able to tell. Luke Swan looked absolutely normal and absolutely sober. Weren't drug addicts supposed to be rancid and ratty?

"Or are you somehow under the illusion that you're above all this?" Luke pressed, hiding the drugs back in his tie. He took a step forward. "You're the son of Japan's top lawyer, right? Mum's quite taken with his image, so I should know. I guess his status has given you a big head, though. Shame."

"Don't listen to a word he says," Midorima snarled. "Kiyoomi!"

"What are you talking about?" Sakusa leered at Luke. "I don't need a big ego to turn down the opportunity of being a _junkie_."

"Why not? You'll be closer to your father that way. Maybe you'll even get a quick fuck out of it."

Ice formed in his stomach. "What the _fuck_ are you saying?"

"Don't you know? Everybody cheats around these parts, kid, whether they're high or sober. Including your precious papa. He's fucked Kim, you know, and probably Midorima and Lang and Hirakawa. Heck, I bet he did my mum. Mum sleeps with anyone, and your dad's not bad looking."

He was going to kill him. He was going to wring his neck and rip open his chest cavity and drag his intestines out from his stomach— "Shut the fuck up!" hissed Sakusa, his entire body trembling. He was going to _kill_ him. He would, he would. He would wring his _stupid junkie neck_. "How dare you speak ill of him, when he does so much good for the world! What does your mom do? Exploit Asian immigrants to make her damn jewelry while she gets high with her crackhead son?"

"Hey, now you're crossing the fucking line—"

Midorima stepped between the two of them, his visage a mask of icy calmness. "Enough. You're making a scene. _Both_ of you."

Luke scoffed. "I'd have to agree." He stepped around them, tossing them a filthy look over his shoulder. "Fucking uptight twats."

As soon as he was gone, Midorima looked imploringly at Sakusa. "Are you okay?"

"What was he talking about?" Sakusa couldn't keep the quiver from his voice, his tone one of muted shock. "My dad? _Sleeping_ with people? Getting high? What the _fuck_ was he talking about?"

"He's just an idiot—"

"It's not true, is it?"

Midorima fell quiet.

 _Oh, no. No, no, no_. Why was Midorima hesitating? Why? "I said," Sakusa asked again, "It's not true, is it?" _What about mom? What about me?_ Drugs? Illicit ones? Junji was a lawyer. He knew the penalties of the law. He could probably recite them in his sleep. And adultery? Junji loved Shiko. He had to. He'd married her. He'd fucking married her, so why would he ever—

"I'm not sure," Midorima revealed, at last. "But I do know... That our fathers are not as clean or as innocent as they would like us to believe."

"What? No... No, that can't be true—"

"It is."

"No, it's not!"

Midorima grimaced. "Look, Kiyoomi, you have to accept it sometime. This is the world we live in. There are always going to be things going on behind the scenes that are less-than-savory."

"My father isn't like the rest of them."

"In that case, neither is mine. But guess who's caught him snorting lines in the men's bathroom before? I promised to never tell my mother. He told me he wasn't a habitual user." Midorima was grave. "Did you think that this life would be all glitz and glamour? From the outside, it may appear to be that way, but... It simply isn't. The sooner you learn that, the easier it will be for you."

"You're wrong," Sakusa said, coldly. "My father is _nothing_ like yours. _Nothing_ like _you_. You know, Shintaro, I thought you were different. But I was wrong. You're just like the _rest of them_. You belong with Noriko, in that sense."

"What has gotten into you?" Midorima seethed. "I know it must be a shock to your system, but you're getting on my last nerve, Kiyoomi. Now is hardly the time for your petty jealousy."

"I'm not _jealous_."

"Then what would you call it? You think I haven't noticed how much you despise Noriko for her closeness to me? You're just using this as an opportunity to attack her in a more straightforward way than usual."

For a moment, shame held him in its arms, but he shook it away. Shame! What was shame? Sakusa had nothing to be ashamed of. _Nothing_. Midorima was the one who should've been ashamed, but here he was, spinning the narrative to make himself look like the victim. Frustration welled up like a violent tide, almost knocking him off his feet. "I am not _jealous_ ," he repeated, more brittle than he would have liked, "of _her_. It's even about her so much as it's about you. Are we even friends anymore? You barely talk to me. You only talk to her, now."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"

"Only because she can't be here."

Midorima gave him a black look. "I'm done with you for tonight. If you feel like being civil to Noriko and I once again, then come find us."

Us. _Us_.

Sakusa watched him go.

Midorima knew how to twist the knife the way it hurt the most, didn't he?

* * *

**June 10th, 2007**

It was chilly today for mid-summer. Sakusa wasn't a fan. Summers were meant to be hot and winters were meant to be cold. And maybe it was heartless of him to think so, but all he wanted to do was go home. He did not care about the Hirakawa family. He did not care about stone-faced Daizen and pale, pale Noriko. He did not care that Hirakawa Meisa—formerly Miyazawa Meisa—was dead and rotting as the minister spoke beside her casket. She would be ashes soon enough. Ashes scattered in the wind.

 _Does that make me scum, then?_ he wondered, frightened by his own uncaring heart. Scum like Luke Swan, who only existed to fuck around on fumes of cocaine? Sakusa had only ever met the woman once. She had been frail, like her daughter, with sunken eyes, a high nose, and unnaturally pointed cheekbones that could've only been the result of cosmetic surgery.

The bereaved party looked like statues. Nobody was crying. It was like they had frozen in time.

Midorima was rubbing comforting circles on Noriko's back, whispering reassurances to her. Things like _I'll never leave you_ and _It'll be alright_.

"Gone," Noriko uttered, eventually, when everybody began to disperse and talk. "She's... gone."

Had she been close to her mother? Well, that didn't matter anymore. She was dead, and Noriko would just have to get over it. It was a very nasty and austere thing to think, but it was all Sakusa was capable of at the moment. _Get over it. Get over it. She's gone._

"I know," Midorima murmured. "I'm sorry, Noriko."

The Sakusa and Midorima families weren't the only guests in attendance. The deceased's affiliation to Hirakawa Daizen and HNN Foundation had drawn spiders and flies out of their homes. Politicians, lawyers, and businessmen—from Japan and from overseas. Men like his father and Midorima's father and Leonid Smirnov. Women like Angelica Swan and Jenny Nguyen and Tessa Kim, who were all points and hard edges with nothing soft about them. Women who had learned to be as cruel and as cunning as their male counterparts to survive in this world.

Angelica Swan flicked her lighter open, lighting up one of her long, expensive cigarettes. She blew out a cloud of smoke, scoffing at something that Jenny Nguyen said. Nearby, her son, Luke, was tapping his fingers on his thigh, probably anticipating his next fix.

Sakusa grit his teeth, brows drawing together in the briefest display of vexation. _You're all despicable... Why does my father even bother with you people? He's the best lawyer in Japan. He fights for justice. And these people are... Dirty. Impure. Hypocrites._

He may not have liked Noriko and her family, but even he could not deny the callousness of those in attendance. Had Miyazawa Meisa even meant anything to these people? Had she ever been anything except a pretty little trophy wife to them? What had she liked to do? Hobbies? Likes and dislikes? Had she even been a person? Not to Sakusa she hadn't. Not to anyone else she hadn't, evidently.

A man sniffed to the side, tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks. Sakusa turned. Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito. Meisa's brother. _Well, I guess there are always exceptions._ He might have been the only one besides Noriko at this entire service who was genuine about their grief.

The rest of them just used this as an opportunity to socialize. To make themselves known around the rich and the powerful. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he knew it was his mother's. Recognized her touch from a stranger's.

"I'm sorry, Kiyoomi," Shiko breathed, squeezing him. "That you have to see this."

Sakusa bit his lip. "Don't be silly, mom."

"It's not silly. This really is a terrible day."

"It's not the worst."

Shiko tilted her head. "No, I suppose it isn't. But you mustn't always compare bad things to the worst things."

_"Don't you know? Everybody cheats around these parts, kid, whether they're high or sober. Including your precious papa. He's fucked Kim, you know, and probably Midorima and Lang and Hirakawa. Heck, I bet he did my mum. Mum sleeps with anyone, and your dad's not bad looking."_

_Does mom know?_ Sakusa wanted to throw up. _Does mom know that dad cheated on her? With men and with women?_

Of course, Luke had to have been lying. But on the off chance that he hadn't been, did Shiko know?

 _What does it matter? It's not true, anyway. It can't be. Swan's a fucking liar who only knows how to get high._ Sakusa Junji had dedicated his whole life into protecting the innocent from the law. Sakusa Junji would not commit adultery. He would _not_.

"Kiyoomi?" Shiko looked concerned. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "I'm fine, mom." _I want to go home._ "Is it alright if I go talk to Shintaro?"

Shiko softened. "Of course. Take your time."

Gravel crunched underfoot as Sakusa weaved through the crowd. Most of the guests had tapered off into smaller groups. Some had even helped themselves to the buffet table in the hall. Finally, he reached where Midorima and Noriko were standing, huddled close together like the wind would rip them apart.

"Noriko," Sakusa said, stolidly. "I'm sorry for your loss." The words felt disingenuous on his tongue. What did he have to be sorry for, anyway? He wasn't the chronic disease that had killed her mother. But it was the right thing to say, anyway, even if it wasn't the best thing.

Noriko offered him a shaky smile. "Thank you. I..." She lifted a hand to her temple, brow wrinkling. "Please, excuse me for one second. I would like to get some air."

Sakusa didn't mention that they were already outside, stepping aside to let her go.

Midorima didn't chase after her, either, instead glancing at Sakusa. "That was mean of you."

Irritation sparked within him. "What?"

"Didn't you see her face?"

"Sorry for not being an expert on Hirakawa Noriko's facial expressions."

Midorima's nostrils flared. "That's one of the worst things you could have said to her. People have been saying it to her and her father since the service began. It kills her, you know. It kills her to have to hear it every five minutes. Honestly, Kiyoomi, I thought you were better than this. More observant, at least. Either you're being deliberately obtuse due to your own personal biases or you're not as sharp as I first pegged you for."

 _This is so uncalled for!_ "What the hell is wrong with you, Shintaro? I didn't mean anything by it." _Can't we have a civil conversation without it leading back to Noriko?_ Sakusa grimaced. "You've changed."

"So have you." Midorima eyed him, and Sakusa _hated_ it. Hated how he was looking down on him. "But one thing is still the same. It was evident at the party and it is evident now. You're still the same child you were when we first met. You've sharpened your fangs and your claws, but you're still so painfully naive."

"Naive how?" Sakusa challenged. "Tell me, Shintaro—how _exactly_ am I naive?"

He'd been offered charlie at a party. He'd listened to Luke _fucking_ Swan slander everybody in the room including his own father and hadn't punched him square in the nose. He hadn't shed a tear at this disgrace of a funeral. He'd been civil to Noriko and had said all the textbook things to her. He'd suffered the uncleanliness and backroom dealings of these animals draped in expensive cloth and jewelry. He'd been introduced to the notion of his father possibly snorting lines in the men's bathroom with Daizen and Mahiro and cheating on his mother.

Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn't _naive_.

Midorima gave him a look. "I'd be here all day if you want to know."

"I knew it. You're just being a blowhard."

"More like I don't have time for your shenanigans right now."

Around them, politicians were subtly electioneering, lawyers were speaking in hushed tones, and businessmen were talking about their grievances with the economy. The _economy_. Fuck's sake. Sakusa couldn't stand them.

"Go after her, then," growled Sakusa. "She's the only one you have time for nowadays. Don't tell me I'm wrong. We both know it's true."

Petra Lang gave them a glance as she strode past.

"The situation is complicated," Midorima sighed. " _Her_ situation is complicated. I know we've grown apart as a result, but... I care for her. I care for her and so forth."

"What about me?" How he hated the vulnerability tied to those words. _I don't need you_ , he wanted to say, but couldn't.

"I care about you, too," Midorima told him, but Sakusa didn't know whether to believe him or not. "But like I said, her situation is... complicated. Especially now... She needs me more than ever."

"What's so complicated?"

"I can't tell you. Everything, in fact, is based on my own observations and assumptions."

That made sense. Despite his faults— _Why did you have to fall so hard for her? She doesn't even love you back, I can see it her eyes_ —Midorima was, at his core, clever and sharp-eyed. He knew what he was talking about most of the time, and Sakusa had never found fault in his logic and reasoning until now.

"You're just overreacting," Sakusa said, lip curling in a slight sneer. It was more a statement rooted in emotion than anything else. Emotion. _Emotion, emotion, emotion._ Nobody ever showed their true feelings here. Sakusa was no exception.

"Continue to think that if you wish." Midorima peered down at his watch, clicking his tongue. "She's taking a while. I'm going to go find her."

"Just leave her. She's probably enjoying herself at the pond or something." Noriko liked the water. Even Sakusa knew this much about her, and he hated to know anything about her.

" _Kiyoomi_."

"Ugh. Then I'll come with you. I hate being around this crowd." He hated any kind of crowd, truth be told, but this crowd was particularly stifling. He did not care for the Minister of Education's nudging into re-electing him, or the Minister of Transport's idle conversation in English with the Minister of Justice and Russian oil magnate Leonid Smirnov. He did not care for Midorima Marumi's crocodile tears or Angelica Swan's cigarette smoke or Tessa Kim's nose job.

Midorima raised a brow. "Fine. Don't dally."

"Tch."

For whatever reason, Midorima strayed off the path, wandering into the woodland and ignoring Sakusa's protests of _there's a path right there!_ Sakusa was tall, but Midorima was taller. Always would be, the damn bastard. Birds twittered in the trees as they crunched down on sticks and leaves, Sakusa focused entirely on the back of Midorima's head. Green just like the canopy. If he blinked, Midorima would disappear, forever, into the woods.

"Noriko!" Midorima would cry every fifteen seconds. "Noriko, where are you?"

Finally, they emerged through the treeline, discovering Noriko seated on a wooden bench with a middle-aged stranger. A koi pond stretched out in front of them.

"I _told_ you she would be here," Sakusa said, feeling both triumphant and scornful. He dipped his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "You could've taken the path, Shintaro." Just to make a point, he made a show of picking a leaf out from his curls.

He received no reaction from Midorima, but Noriko laughed as the green-haired teen rushed to her side. "Kiyoomi's right." She plucked a twig or two from his hair with her slim pianist's fingers. "You're all messy now."

 _Get a room, why don't you?_ Sakusa's lips pressed into a thin line. "As much as I'd _love_ to see this continue, our dads are gonna be worried if we don't go back soon."

"Seem like friends to me," said the old stranger, referencing some conversation Sakusa hadn't been present for.

Noriko dropped her gaze. "It's complicated."

It was difficult not to roll his eyes. Is _everything complicated with you?_

"Noriko," Midorima said, helping her from the bench. "Come on, we're leaving. Your uncle's asking for you."

A lie, but Sakusa was sure Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito would appreciate having his beloved niece nearby. That man had been on the verge of an emotional breakdown the last Sakusa had saw of him, and that was the last thing he needed to see in the drudgery of his horrible, horrible not-funeral. Because, at its heart, it wasn't the untimely departure of a loved one that had lured the guests in like flies to honey. No, it was the opportunity to scheme and lie and poison and social-climb in the faux cloak of grief. "This time," Sakusa said, not wanting to go through the experience of trudging through trees and shrubs again, "we're taking the _path_."

Midorima and Noriko intertwined their fingers and started toward the path, Sakusa making to follow. But then he paused and turned, slowly. Who was this man? Who was he to Noriko? His entire body was sagged with the weight of grief, his eyes dull and glazed over with the film of a nicotine addiction and dangerous detachment to reality. He narrowed his eyes into slits, scrutinizing him carefully.

"Kiyoomi!" Midorima called, peering over his shoulder.

Sakusa tore his gaze away from the man's, spinning on his heel. "Yeah, I'm coming."

* * *

**March 14th, 2011**

It was like someone had snapped a finger, and time had flown him by. There were several students between Sakusa and Komori during the ceremony, and Sakusa was impatient to get everything over and done with so he could rejoin his cousin. His diploma meant little when he had already gotten a sports scholarship into Itachiyama Institute. So had Komori, actually, so everything had worked out all fine and dandy for him.

His father was not a drug addict. Or a cheater.

He was just Sakusa Junji, the top lawyer of Japan, here to receive his son at his graduation ceremony.

 _They're all wrong,_ Sakusa thought, placating himself, as Junji snapped photo after photo of Sakusa and Komori standing in the courtyard, the two of them holding their diplomas up high. _How could my father possibly be any of those things?_

"I think I closed my eyes on the last one," Komori bemoaned as he went over to check Junji's camera. His father had taken up a hobby in photography as of late. "I knew it!"

"How lame," drawled Sakusa, and Komori huffed. "You have your eyes closed in the second one, too."

"It's the flash! The flash, I tell you."

"Oh, yeah? Then why don't I have my eyes closed in any of them?"

Komori shrugged, helpless.

Both of their families attended their graduation. His mom and his dad and Aunt Tomoka and Uncle Tateo, Komori's father. The only family member missing was Aunt Terano, but Sakusa chose not to dwell on her. They were better off without her, anyway. She was too busy trying to claw her way up the justice system to care about her family.

"The photos turned out well," Tomoka chirped on the way back to the car, going through Junji's camera. "Can you print them out for us? Please?"

"Of course," Junji agreed, smiling. Shiko didn't smile. She never smiled, and rarely talked, but Sakusa sensed that she was as happy as the rest of them. "Come over next week for tea, and we'll pass them to you."

"Sounds like a plan! You hear that, Motoya?" Tomoka let out one of her big, jolly laughs, one hand descending to ruffle her son's hair. "These are going into the family scrapbook!"

Komori groaned. "Can you not put the ones with my eyes closed in?"

"Oh, sweetie, those are going on the front spread."

Sakusa snickered. Poor Komori.

"Where shall we go?" Tateo asked as they all piled into the Komori family car. "Dear, pick a restaurant."

"Any restaurant is fine as long as it's not a family restaurant," Sakusa chimed in, urgent in his reminder. As if he would want to sit in a filthy pigsty with filthy children running about and pissing in the ball-pit.

"We know, Kiyoomi, we know."

What happened next was like the ending scene of a movie. They drove off into the horizon, no sunset, but with lovely afternoon weather to compromise. And Sakusa—

Sakusa was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Me, writing about Sakusa's scorn for hedonism while indulging in caramel-slathered popcorn and then writing in L and Watari into the background: mmm yes death note reference go brrr.
> 
> Me, after reading some of The Hinterland Doctrine: mmm yes sleazy politicians go fefqfvqvfuqbfowbfoebeeihieriirywi


	43. The Tale of Sakusa (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa's world comes crashing down, slowly, and quietly.

**September, 2004**

Sakusa, wearing a pair of disposable gloves, peeled an apple in silence. Next to him, Tomoka hummed a jolly tune under her breath, smiling as she rolled out some puff pastry. Occasionally, Komori would peer over Sakusa's arm to check on his progress, pouting when Sakusa's apple turned out to be smoother than his.

"I don't know how you do it," Komori mumbled, examining his own apple, which looked like a digital image that had been rendered by a middle-schooler in their first computing class.

"It's easy," Sakusa told him, holding up the apple.

"No fair!"

"It's pretty fair to me."

"Boys," Tomoka rebuked gently. "Thank you for helping me out, but why don't you go outside? I'll finish up, and lunch will be ready by twelve."

"We can go pay our respects for Tora!" suggested Komori, recalling the bird with the bum wing that he and Sakusa had looked after together a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, it had died within a week, and Komori had cried for days. Sakusa still remembered dabbing his cousin's runny nose with disgusted fondness.

Shyly, Sakusa peered up at Tomoka. "Are you sure?"

Tomoka beamed at him. "Of course! Go have fun. You're still kids, after all."

So Sakusa peeled his gloves off, dumping them in the trashcan and washing his hands thoroughly with soap before slipping his shoes on and heading out the door with Komori. They raced through the streets, taking the shortest route to where they had buried Tora. The little bird's grave was nearby the local park, a place where the neighborhood kids typically hung out.

When they finally arrived at the wooden grave marker, Komori was already starting to tear up. Sakusa crouched in front of it, putting his hands together in a prayer. _I hope you're doing well in your next life, Tora-tan. Eat lots of worms and lay lots of eggs..._ He paused. _Was Tora male or female?_ Sakusa looked to Komori for help, but the latter was already full-on crying.

"He lived a great life!" sobbed Komori, tilting his chin up so snot wouldn't run down nose in the way he knew Sakusa despised.

"Why are you crying again?" Sakusa sighed, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. His sweater crinkled with the motion.

Tears stained Komori's cheeks and the collar of his striped shirt. "Because I'm sad!"

"It's been almost a month already."

"So? It still hurts." Whimpering, Komori rubbed at his eyes and patting his chest. "Right here."

"Um..." Sakusa didn't really get it, but he touched Komori's shoulder in a kind display of solidarity anyway. "There there."

"I thought he'd be with us for longer."

"Everything dies eventually, Komori."

Komori nodded. "I know. But I just wanted more time with him."

Sakusa thought it was silly for Komori to be crying over a bird of all things. Sure, Tora had been cute, but they had only looked after it for five days. Leave it up to Komori to form a weird attachment with the animal. "You gotta move on."

"I know..."

Komori was such a little crybaby. But they were still cousins, so Sakusa took him by the hand and led him back to his house. "Come on. Let's go do a puzzle or something. Your mom said she bought some new ones for us."

A sniffle. "Okay."

They spent the rest of the afternoon doing puzzles and eating apple pie.

* * *

**June 2nd, 2011**

As Sakusa adjusted his bow-tie in the bathroom mirror, he took a good, long look at himself. Almost all of the baby fat on his cheeks had melted away by now. He was all angles and hard lines, jaw defined and cheekbones slim and aristocratic. Only a first year in high school, but he was looking more and more like his father with each passing day, losing all of his mother's softness.

He slicked back his hair with gel, grimacing at the gooey sensation on his hand.

There was a knock on the door, and his mother's voice sounded from the other side. "Kiyoomi, are you ready?"

"Almost," Sakusa called back, trying to get a single lock of hair that kept sticking up to stay down. _Goddammit! Just stay flat!_ He glanced down at his wrist, checking the time. _We're going to be late if I don't leave now._ Deciding to just leave it, he washed his hands of the gel and exited.

His mother was seated with her back straight on one of the hotel beds, digging through her purse to make sure she had everything. Her gaze flicked up when she heard the door creak. "Oh. Kiyoomi, you're ready. Your father's gone ahead with the others."

The others being Daizen and Mahiro, most likely.

"I see," Sakusa intoned.

It was a grim day for a wedding. Or maybe it was just him. Because the sun was shining warm and bright outside and the skies were clear. A pit that had formed in his stomach the moment he woke up this morning widened, making him feel queasy.

"Are you alright?" Shiko inquired, reaching up to palm his face. Her face was unmoved, but her eyes were concerned. Sakusa relaxed into her touch.

"I'm fine, mom," Sakusa dismissed her worries, "Just a little overwhelmed by the fact that Shintaro of all people is getting married." And to _her_. God, Midorima was _marrying_ Noriko. He should've seen this coming. He really should've. _Well, I did, but I didn't want to dwell on it._ And, really, why would he?

He had not spoken properly to Midorima ever since he had blown up at him (in front of Noriko, no less) when the news had initially broken.

_"What do you mean you're getting married?!"_

_"It's exactly what I said. Noriko and I... We're betrothed."_

_"This isn't the fucking stone age. Shintaro, what the hell?!"_

_"I supposed it was too much to ask for your blessing."_

_"She is not the person you think she is, nor the person you want her to be. You two don't suit each other at all! You think she loves you? Think again—I don't know what the hell she wants from you, but it's not love. It never has been, and you're a lovesick fool for not realizing what that_ bitch _has been doing to you."_

He had not seen Midorima ever so angry, not even when Jabberwock had run their mouths all those years ago.

Shiko seemed to accept this. "I understand. He was your childhood friend, and now he's an adult and moving into the next stage of his life... It must be jarring for you."

"I'll have to get used to it, then." Sakusa released a deep breath, linking arms with his mother. He towered more than a head over her now. "Let's go."

It was an outside wedding. A hired car drove Shiko and Sakusa through Roppongi Hills and to their location. As far as Sakusa knew, Daizen had rented an entire park for his daughter's wedding. Not the kind of gesture he had expected from the HNN head, but he supposed it fitted well enough.

Just thinking about the wedding sapped him of his energy. There was no point wondering what kind of people would be there. Luke Swan, probably, if he hadn't overdosed by now. Luke Swan and all the dirty, corrupt people that orbited the Hirakawa conglomerate family. He intended on sitting in the corner and sipping on fruit punch for the whole duration of the event. Perhaps he would humor his mother with a dance.

Forty minutes later, they'd arrived, and the driver helped Shiko collect the wedding presents she had bought for the bride and groom from the boot. His mother held Noriko's present, while Sakusa carried Midorima's one. He had no idea what they were. Hadn't bothered to involve himself in the shopping.

 _Hmm... I wonder if he's still mad at me. Probably. I did say some pretty unforgivable things about her._ It made him cringe just thinking about it, but he could not say he entirely regretted saying those things. He would take back the name-calling, certainly. But the rest? No. They could stay hanging in the air between them.

The reception hall was filled with people indulging in snacks and gossip. Everyone was dolled up and pretty, and Sakusa was sure he saw some nosy reporter be evicted by a security guard. Along with Shiko, he put the gifts onto the present table with everyone else's. In the corner of his eye, he spotted green hair. Green, red, blue, purple, pink...

Sakusa turned. He had seen them before, a few times, but had never formally met any of them.

"I'm going to go find your father," Shiko stated before leaving, disappearing into the crowd.

"Hm? Oh, yes."

_The Generation of Miracles._

No, he would not say hello. Not when he and Midorima were still on bad terms. The only reason he was here was because Mahiro and Junji were close, and he and his mother had been invited out of courtesy.

They were certainly rowdy, though.

"Dai-chan, put that down, it's the middle of the day!"

"Fuck off, Satsuki, it's five in the morning in Sweden or something!"

Sakusa pointedly turned away from them, adjusting the position of his present. There was no one he could talk to here, but that was fine. He would help himself to the chocolate fondue fountain, maybe. The strawberries in the adjacent looked especially ripe and juicy—

"Excuse me."

He almost jumped out of his skin, noticing for the first time a man with sky-blue hair blinking owlishly at him. "Wha—When did you get here...?!" _Is he some sort of ninja?_

"Ah... I was here the whole time... Sorry, I just need to put my present down."

"Oh, yes, of course." Sakusa smoothed down lapels, stepping to the side.

"Thanks."

That little interaction had, unfortunately, garnered attention from some of the Miracles. He knew their names, even if they didn't know his.

"Oh? Look's like Tetsu's at it again." Aomine Daiki.

"Don't be mean, Dai-chan, it's not like he can help it." Momoi Satsuki.

"Did you see how high Kurokocchi made that guy jump?" Kise Ryouta.

"It's a talent of Kuro-chin~" Murasakibara Atsushi. God, that one was a mouthful. Sakusa hoped he would never have to speak to him.

 _And this guy..._ Sakusa studied the man who had startled him so. "Kuroko Tetsuya... right?" _The phantom sixth man of Seirin or whatever he was called back in high school._ Basketball sure churned out a lot of cheesy nicknames. He was pretty sure Akashi was called _The Emperor_ or something along those lines.

"Yes. And you're Midorima-kun's childhood friend."

The entire Miracles group were shuffling toward them now, and Sakusa was wishing to be anywhere but here. But there was no avoiding it, and he sighed and straightened up.

"Hello," he said, bowing. "I'm Sakusa Kiyoomi."

* * *

"You may now kiss the bride!"

Midorima dipped her low, and Noriko had the smallest smile on her lips as they kissed. Their eyes closed as they both melted into the moment, but Sakusa's never did. His applause was stilted, and it was a struggle not to stand up and kick his chair away.

The curtain was closing for him. The show was over. He wasn't a little kid anymore, he was on his way to becoming an adult.

Aomine stood up and whistled with his fingers, gaining some raucous laughs and low chuckles from all around.

"They're so happy," murmured Shiko.

Sakusa's throat bobbed. "Yeah. They are."

* * *

After the ceremony, everybody let loose. Or as loose as the plutocrats would allow themselves to be at any rate. Sakusa was quite sure Luke Swan had smuggled some of his drugs into the party, because some of these people looked less than sober and chugging alcohol at any time would have been too conspicuous.

Sakusa watched Aomine Daiki hit on a raven-haired girl—Noriko's sister?—for approximately two minutes before deciding to do something else. It would have been more amusing if she were rejecting his advances.

Instead, he stood, stolid, by the refreshment's table. Nearby, Kagami Taiga was twisting a leg off from a whole chicken, Kuroko standing behind him. The both of them talked mundanely.

Even through he had introduced himself to the Miracles, he certainly was not their friend. The last thing Sakusa wanted to do was intrude on anyone's good time, and he wasn't particularly a people person anyway. So he sipped his virgin champagne, which was just fizzy grape juice in a fancy flute if he were being honest.

"Kiyoomi."

Sakusa stiffened, not turning around. "Shintaro."

Midorima circled around him and appeared in his line of vision, glasses set firm and steady on the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, Sakusa felt self-conscious, and he lifted a hand to try and flatten that stubborn curl of hair. Warily, he told him, "Congratulations."

"Thank you. And thank you for coming despite everything."

Sakusa swirled his juice. "I didn't think you'd want me here, to be honest."

Midorima didn't deny that, and he wasn't sure or not if that hurt. "Your family is close to mine. It's only natural that we'd want everyone close here." His voice sounded distant. Faraway. Just like they were from each other. "So... You met my teammates."

"They're a lively bunch," Sakusa said, noncommittal. "I can see why you're so taken with them."

"Hmph. 'Taken' is a bit of a strong word." In spite of his denial, though, Midorima was starting to smile. Over his shoulder, Sakusa could see Akashi twirl Momoi around as they danced together. "But we've been together for so long, I can hardly imagine my life without them. You may even say that they are my anchor to reality, if that makes any sense to you."

"It makes perfect sense. After all, they are to you as you were to me."

Midorima seemed taken aback at the confession. "Oh. Well, I suppose it's only natural... You were a child when we first met, and we saw each other a lot."

 _You were my hero,_ Sakusa wanted to say, but the words got caught in his throat. "Yes, um, well... Don't think anything of it now. We're grown-up now, and our lives have changed." _So has our friendship. But I don't miss it. Do I? No. I don't._ "Can't say I can anticipate what life has in store for us next, though."

"True. The only certainty in life is death, and that's a bit too morbid for discussion today."

"For any day."

"We'll be dealing with a lot of it," Midorima pointed out. "That is, if you still intend on pursuing a career in law enforcement."

"Of course I am." It was impossible for him _not_ to follow in his father's footsteps. He had big shoes to fill, but he was sure he could do it. "And I'm guessing you are, too."

"There is one fundamental difference between our pursuits, however."

Sakusa's brow lowered. "And what's that?"

"I'm planning on becoming a prosecutor. If we ever meet in court, it will be as opponents, not colleagues."

Maybe this drink really did have alcohol in it, because _something_ was stopping the right words from escaping his mouth. Noticing his surprise, Midorima went on, "Don't be alarmed. It's probably a difference in our personalities and signs. Lawyers prefer to plead for mercy, while prosecutors are out to punish. We are two ends of the same spectrum of humanity and morality."

"I... I see." Yes, they were, weren't they? "Good luck, then... Shintaro." Hesitantly, he held up his champagne flute. "A toast?"

Midorima grabbed a full glass of actual champagne off the table and clinked it against Sakusa's. "To justice."

"To justice," Sakusa echoed.

* * *

**November 22nd, 2011**

Sakusa watched from his bedroom window as the movers hauled the last box into the back of the truck. Marumi and Mahiro stood in the lawn of their property, saying their last goodbyes to their house. His parents were down there, too, to farewell the Midorima family from the neighborhood.

He hugged his knees, sullen.

If he hadn't been feeling it before, he was definitely feeling it now. The impending sensation of _everything I know now is over for good_. And he thought, thought things like _Wasn't around this time of year that we first met Noriko? Time flies._

Time was a rocket, and Sakusa was hanging on for his dear life.

 _Don't go,_ he yearned to say, but why would he? There was no reason that existed beside his own selfishness and insecurity.

Sakusa knew why they were moving. Had been there for the conversation.

"Now that our Shintaro has flown the coop," Marumi had sighed dramatically. "This house is far too big for just Mahiro and I. We've found somewhere smaller but equally as luxurious."

"That's wonderful," Shiko had said, warmly. "I'm happy for you, Marumi-san."

Sixteen years old. Sakusa Kiyoomi was now sixteen years old. The same age Midorima had been when he first moved here. Well, almost. Midorima's birthday was in July, and he had technically been fifteen when his family moved in, but _semantics_.

He flopped in his bed, grabbing his phone from the nightstand and opening his messages. Several from Komori and his Itachiyama teammates. None from Midorima. He opened their private chat, anyway.

The last time they had texted was... five-hundred and seventy days ago.

He turned his phone off and closed his eyes.

They were all grown up now.

It was time to let go.

_But how can I?_

* * *

**January, 2001**

When he was five years old, there came a thud in his father's study room, and his mother locked him inside his bedroom. Sakusa cried and screamed and pounded on the door, afraid of the dark and the monster under the bed. Too short to reach the light switch and too afraid to go back to bed. He needed the hallway light on.

 _Why?_ he asked, his cheeks stained with tears. _Why did you lock me in here, mama?_

Half an hour later, the door creaked open and Shiko swept him up in her arms, whispering broken apologies. He couldn't see her face in the dark, but he could feel the wetness on her cheeks and the disarray her hair was in.

"Shh, shh, shh," she hushed, quivering. "Mama's here now, Kiyoomi, mama's here."

"Why did you leave me, mama?"

"I'm sorry, Kiyoomi, I'm sorry. Please forgive me, please."

Sakusa didn't understand. Shiko had thrown him in his room and locked the door and had forgotten to turn on the light for him. His face grew red, and then he began to cry—hard. "I hate you, mama! Hate you, hate you, hate you!"

"I know, darling, I know. I know you hate me. Mama hates herself, too."

_"I hate you, mama!"_

Eventually, he cried himself into exhaustion. Shiko cleaned him up and tucked him into bed. Before he fell asleep, he felt a teardrop land on his nose.

_I made mama cry._

He hardened his heart.

_But she deserves it._

* * *

**November 16th, 2012**

_"We're live here in Sendai, Miyagi, to witness a heartbreaking and touching silent vigil at Aobajosai High. In spite of the cold, hundreds of students sit in front of the school tonight to commemorate the memory of Oikawa Tooru."_

In his cozy house in Tokyo, Sakusa gulped down his miso soup, eyes glued on the evening news broadcast on television. The last two days had been a whirlwind in the high school volleyball circuit. Beyond that, even. He knew some of the players in the university league as well as the v-league had also expressed their sorrow for a life and a talent lost too soon to the cruelty of the world.

The camera zoomed in on the students. Most of them were female students, though there were plenty of male students, too. Eyes swollen, upper lips rubbed raw. Some were holding up candles, while others were holding up signs.

 _JUSTICE FOR OIKAWA TOORU_ , read one of the signs, written in solid strokes of pink marker.

Either the footage was muted or it was a silent vigil.

Sakusa swore he spotted a teacher or two present there. Even parents. There were many parents, actually, who had accompanied their kids to join their mourning and their quiet demand for justice.

Oikawa Tooru had been loved, hadn't he? He had really, really been loved. Sakusa was almost jealous. Almost. Oikawa Tooru was also _dead_ , and this was a tragedy of epic proportions no matter how anyone looked at it.

The media said that Iwaizumi Hajime did it.

Sakusa did not believe that for a second. Especially not when his father had said the same thing over dinner last night.

His parents had both gone out for supper tonight. Sakusa had refused to go along, and now he sat alone at the dinner table with food he had prepared for himself. He was a half-decent chef as far as teenage boys went, though his culinary feats consisted mostly of basic stir-fry.

Several other news channels were at the same scene, Sakusa found out with a few clicks of the remote control. They all stayed a respective distance from the mourners until the latter began to disperse. It was getting late.

A representative of Sakura TV, a station known for their audacious story-hunting, stepped forward, jabbing his microphone at a blond girl with puffy eyes. _"You're a student at this school, correct?"_

The poor girl practically wilted. _"Y-yes..."_

_"What's your name?"_

_"Iwasaki Sayori..."_

_"Tell me, Iwasaki-san, how are you feeling?"_

_Is this what reporting is these days?_ Sakusa thought, irked at the meddlesome reporter's inane questioning. _Of course she feels like shit. Why wouldn't she? They're probably all traumatized one way or another._

 _"God, I... I don't even know..."_ Sayori hiccuped. _"Sorry. Sorry."_

_"Let's skip to this question, then: If you could say anything to Iwaizumi Hajime, what would you say to him?"_

Sakusa tensed.

For a moment, Sayori managed to get a hold of herself, her features hardening. Her face was still a mess of tears and snot, and her voice shook as she replied, _"I'd tell him and his family to rot in hell."_

He turned off the TV. He didn't want to hear anymore of this. It unsettled him, how quickly the media had manipulated the public into becoming the judge, jury, and executioner. Already, they were convinced of his guilt, and the investigation was still ongoing. _There isn't even a fixed trial date yet_.

A dark reminder of why Sakusa was going to become a lawyer. Iwaizumi Hajime was just the kind of person he wanted to save from the masses and the system.

The front door opened when Sakusa was washing the dishes. "Welcome home," he called as he used the finger of his pink rubber gloves to scrub a particularly stubborn stain off bottom of his plate.

Nobody answered back, but he heard his father stomping down the hall to where his study room was. He was putting the dishes on the drying rack and peeling his gloves off when Shiko entered the kitchen, clutching her shawl around her shoulders.

"Kiyoomi," she breathed, eyes wide. "Forgive your father's rudeness. He..."

"What is it?"

"He's going to Sendai tomorrow. He's going to defend Iwaizumi in court."

Sakusa almost dropped the plate.

* * *

**November 25th, 2012**

Sakusa did not like funerals. They were joyless, stringent events and the amount of tears that were usually shed over a corpse disquieted him. The strife that loss put people through was something he could not fully understand, having never experienced it himself. So when his father brought him along to Sendai one day to observe Oikawa's funeral, he opted to stay in the car.

"Are you sure?" Junji asked as he parked the car, glancing at Sakusa, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure." Sakusa let out an exasperated huff. "This really isn't my sort of scene, dad. You know, most parents would _not_ take their children to funerals if they could."

"But it's important," pointed out Junji. "For children to understand death and loss. Two things that go hand-in-hand with peace and justice."

"I don't want to be there."

"Alright, then. I'll be back soon." Junji turned the keys and the car stopped humming. It was nearing the beginning of winter, and Sakusa had brought along a hot water bottle to hug as he waited. Pale sunlight painted the interior of the car grey, and Junji stepped out into an even more monochrome world.

He unlocked his phone, texting back his mother and chiming in on the team group chat. Itachiyama's captain, Iizuna Tsukasa, responded eagerly.

 **[Iizuna]:** Wow! I rarely ever see Sakusa online hahahaha

 **[Sakusa]:** There's usually nothing to talk about.

 **[Komori]:** Where are u? u said u were going to Sendai with ur dad today right?

 **[Sakusa]:** Yeah.

 **[Sakusa]:** Dad is dropping by Oikawa's funeral.

 **[Sakusa]:** I don't know why... Something about understanding death and loss.

 **[Sakusa]:** I think he wanted to teach me a lesson, but I already know what those things are.

 **[Iizuna]:** Again, wow. That was the most I've ever heard or seen you say at once.

 **[Sakusa]:** Funerals annoy me.

 **[Iizuna]:** Yikes

 **[Iizuna]:** Clearly

 **[Asagami]:** Oh fuck

 **[Asagami]:** i remember that guy yeah

 **[Asagami]:** Oikawa Tooru

 **[Asagami]:** I heard he was super good

 **[Asagami]:** i can't believe his best friend fucking killed him fuck that guy i hope he burns

Sakusa had known his teammates long enough to hear their voices in his head as he read their messages. Iizuna's was typically calm and steady (minus his occasional outbursts) while the vice-captain, Asagami—he had a side-swept fringe and a smug grin—had a gruffer intonation when he spoke.

He could have typed back: _Iwaizumi didn't do it_. But he just left it, letting his phone go dark as he took off his seat-belt and opened the car door. Shutting it behind him, he closed his eyes and shivered from the sudden chill that hit him. He didn't really know why he had come out of the car, especially when he had insisted on keeping warm inside.

From a distance, Sakusa watched the funeral-goers leave the grounds in groups, huddled in his purple jacket.

Three siblings passed him.

The youngest one was sobbing quietly, rubbing one eye with her hand. "Tooru-nii..."

The oldest said nothing.

The middle one met Sakusa's gaze for a brief second before nodding and looking away.

By the time he glanced in the direction they'd been heading again, they had disappeared. Just another three souls devastated by tragedy—three names he would probably never learn.

A bell rang out, clinging and clanging through the wintry air. The sound was sharp and biting—like frost, like the scream of a harbinger, like the hand of the reaper.

Sakusa breathed out, a white cloud forming from his lips.

In his jacket pocket, his phone vibrated. Sakusa checked the caller ID, unmoved by the _Komori Motoya_ on the screen. He picked up and put Komori on speaker, uttering, "Hello?"

 _"Ah, good, you answered."_ Komori sighed in relief. _"How are you holding up?"_

"Dad let me stay in the car," Sakusa told him, even though he was currently withstanding the freezing weather. "It feels like death, though."

_"What? Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine. Just..." He paused, mulling over his words. "I dunno what to tell you. The whole world feels like it's frozen over in the wake of Oikawa Tooru's passing. That's as good as I can put it."

He couldn't see Komori, but he could hear the slightest tremble in his cousin's voice as he said, _"When you get back, come over. My mom bought apples this morning. We'll make apple pie, just like we used to. Oh, and dad bought me a drone for Christmas, too, so we can fly it in the backyard."_ Komori always did have a habit of opening his presents early despite his parent's wishes. He could picture Tateo's fond exasperation as he watched his son rip open the carefully wrapped present.

"Sure," Sakusa couldn't fight a smile, "I'd like that." A warm, delicious apple pie was just what the doctor ordered. "We'll be back in maybe three hours, if the traffic is good. It could be longer, if dad decides to see the Iwaizumi family again, but I think he's as sick of this place as I am."

 _"I'm not surprised,"_ murmured Komori. _"Funerals suck all the life out of you. I get what you mean. 'It feels like death'. I get it."_ Someone shouted in the backdrop, making the line crackle momentarily. _"Oh, shoot, mom's calling me! I think I forgot to take out the trash last night. Shit. Anyway, I'll talk to you later!"_

"Yeah, later."

Komori hung up, and Sakusa was putting his phone back in his pocket when Junji appeared, brushing his winter coat off. He blinked, surprised to see Sakusa outside, but didn't ask any questions except: "You ready to go?"

Sakusa nodded. "Yep."

Later in the day, he ate apple pie and laughed when Komori flew his drone into a tree.

* * *

**November 29th, 2012**

The first day of Iwaizumi's trial was today. But it was also a Thursday, and a school day, and Sakusa did not have the opportunity to follow it during class. Instead, he was busy following his math teacher's step-by-step instructions on how to do a complex trigonometry problem they'd all had difficulty handling in the last exam.

Sakusa looked out the window, distracting by rain pelting against the windowpane. It was as grey outside as it had been the day he went to Oikawa's funeral. This winter was shaping up to be a gloomy one.

During lunch, he stayed in his classroom, Komori coming over from his own classroom to join him.

"Whatcha looking at?" Komori asked as he pulled a chair up to Sakusa's desk and sat.

"Hm?" Sakusa glanced at him. "Oh, nothing. It's just fucking miserable outside."

"The forecast for the rest of next week is all rain, too," Komori said, opening up his lunchbox. Sakusa did the same, and they began to eat. Komori made conversation, which Sakusa responded to occasionally with grunts.

Inevitably, the topic moved to today's trial.

"How do you think it'll go?" Komori wondered through a mouthful of rice and seaweed.

Sakusa nibbled on a pickled plum. "It's only the first day, so it's highly unlikely to conclude. But I have faith in my father—he'll probably have swayed the jury by now in Iwaizumi's favor."

He did not know much about the case. Though he often did take a peek at his father's cases, it was always after they had concluded. Junji wouldn't let him anywhere near his current cases and clients.

_He's the best lawyer in Japan. I'm sure he won't lose. He never loses._

"I do know this, though," Sakusa said, and Komori perked up with interest. "My dad's aiming for a not-guilty verdict. Not a reduced sentence. Not even a community sanction. He wants Iwaizumi completely off the hook."

Komori's eyes went round. "He's that convinced of his innocence?"

"It's a gut instinct." Being a lawyer was founded on logic, but also on intuition. "And my dad... is never wrong about these kinds of things."

"Well, I hope he wins, then."

"Mm. Me too."

* * *

**December 2nd, 2012**

Oh, how quick they'd been, to stab him in the back with their ridged knives.

The trial lasted for three days, finishing on the first day of the final month.

And Junji—

Sakusa expelled a shuddering breath as he stared at the newspaper on display at the comic book shop, detailing the defeat of Japan's greatest lawyer. And not only that.

Cocaine on the tabletops.

Him and Tessa Kim in front of a love hotel.

Popping pills in the Mikura Oriental.

All printed in black and white for the world to see.

But while the rest of the world continued to bustle and whisper and avert their eyes, Sakusa stuttered to a halt.

_Dad... lost?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know I said it would be 3 chapters, but we are definitely going into 4 and very possibly 5. If anyone wanted Sakusa to talk to the Miracles, sorry. This is ultimately about him, the Miracles aren't too involved with his life (apart from Midorima).
> 
> It's all downhill from here.


	44. The Tale of Sakusa (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it rained, it poured.

**December 3rd, 2012**

The only sound he could hear was his own heavy breathing and the echoing silence of the house. The door to Junji's study appeared to loom over him like the gates to hell—but what was waiting inside terrified him the most.

_Who's inside? My father, the greatest lawyer in Japan, or a common philanderer?_

Sakusa could not reconcile the two. He simply couldn't.

In the end, he lost his nerve, spinning on his heel and marching to his room. He slammed the door, his gut lurching. Would he vomit? No. He wasn't that weak. He couldn't be weak now, not when his father's debauchery— _Debauchery!_ he thought with horrified amazement—had been laid out for all to see like intestines in an operating theatre.

Junji had not come out from his study since he returned home from the trial. It was like he had known what would happen—had known that the people he had surrounded himself with would betray him.

_Why? Why would you let this happen?_

Muttering darkly under his breath, he dialed Komori, impatiently flexing his wrists against the floor as he waited for his cousin to pick up.

 _Hey!_ said Komori's voicemail. _It look's like I'm not in right now. If you wanna leave a message, go right ahead!_

Sakusa ended the call.

_Dad. Who are you?_

* * *

**February, 2003**

There was a distance, Sakusa instinctively knew, between him and his mother. Even though she always orbited him like the earth around the sun, he always kept her at an arm's length, refusing to let her in any closer.

He could not come up with a plausible reason as to why he would do this. Shiko had given birth to him, had raised him and fed him and clothed him and loved him—so why? Why was he like this?

An incident from two years ago flashed through his mind. It was a blur, but he remembered enough.

_"Why did you leave me, mama?"_

_"I'm sorry, Kiyoomi, I'm sorry. Please forgive me, please."_

_"I hate you, mama! Hate you, hate you, hate you!"_

_"I know, darling, I know. I know you hate me. Mama hates herself, too."_

Just recalling that night filled him with a childish rage—filled him with the urge to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum. But he was older than back then. Old enough to start asking questions.

_What happened that night? Why did mom do what she did?_

The gap between was still there, yet to be bridged. Hesitantly, Sakusa reached out to her one February afternoon. He found her in the living room, seated in her favorite armchair with Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_ in one hand, and crawled into her lap. Ever patient, she closed her book and set it aside. "Yes, Kiyoomi?" She brushed his hair with her fingers.

"Mom," Sakusa started, snuggling against her breast. "Do you remember what happened two years ago?"

Shiko tilted her head slightly. "You're going to have to be a little more specific, dear."

"You threw me into my room and locked me inside. You didn't even turn the lights on." He tried not to sound accusatory, but it was hard. A part of him—weak, young, and confused—still hated her for it.

She froze. "I... Did I do that?"

Sakusa nodded.

"Oh," she said, softly, "Oh. I'm so sorry, Kiyoomi. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Then why did you do it?"

At first, Shiko said nothing. Sakusa was going to demand an answer from her before she finally replied, "I don't know." Calm, unwavering. Just as she always was. Sakusa examined her expression, trying to find something in there that told him she was lying. But he found nothing. He never had been able to read his mother. She was not like other people. It was as if she lied as she breathed, whereas others would sweat and twiddle their thumbs.

Sakusa crumpled. "Oh."

Sighing, Shiko wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back in a comforting motion. "Kiyoomi, whatever happens, remember that I'll always love you. No matter what."

He wanted it to be truth. He wanted so badly for it to be truth.

But, like everything else that came to Shiko, he was unable to tell.

_Mom. Who are you?_

* * *

**December 4th, 2012**

He shouldn't have been surprised.

Only if something bad happened to them would she ever show up on their doorstep. Sakusa made sure to keep his face neutral as he welcomed her inside, saying, "Hello, Aunt Terano. It's good to see you again." _Yeah, right. Why couldn't you just keep staying away? Let my mother take in all the news without having to entertain your mind games as well._

Terano toed her high heels off at the entrance-way, shrugging off her gray blazer. "You've grown, dear nephew." Her eyes were cruel and cutting. "You look more and more like your father each day."

It was terribly easy to pick up on the hidden meaning: _As far as I'm concerned, you're a drug addict and a womanizer and a failure of a lawyer._

Sakusa clenched his jaw. "That's how genetics typically work, yes."

"Hah! Yes, you're just like him. And her." Maybe it was a trick of the eye, but Terano became softer, just for a moment. "And her. Where is your mother, Kiyoomi?"

"She's in the living room." She made to go, but he asked, "Not to be rude, auntie, but why are you here?"

"I'm sure you can guess," Terano said, her brow rising. "After what your father pulled, Shiko must be devastated."

"And I'm supposed to just accept that you care?"

"We're sisters."

"I thought you hated her."

Terano hummed, bundling her blazer in her arms. She was wearing a white turtleneck sweater. "Now, where did you get that idea from?" She did not give him the opportunity to reply, instead making a beeline to the living room like she owned the place.

Sakusa knew the story of the three sisters. Shiko, Tomoka, and Terano—whose first name was Maki but preferred to be addressed by her last name. The youngest, Tomoka, had been born out of wedlock, and it was her existence that her ultimately caused Terano to despise her father—Sakusa's maternal grandfather, who had already passed before he was born. He'd heard that they'd been close when they were children, but their relationship soured when Shiko and Tomoka both got married and became housewives and mothers immediately after finishing university. Terano cursed their lack of ambition and what she saw as their compliance to the patriarchal ideals of Japan, and by the time Sakusa was taking his first steps, she had mostly cut off the both of them.

 _So why is she here now?_ Sakusa did not for a second believe that Terano was doing this out of the goodness of her heart. The double-doors to the living room were closed, but the walls were thin enough for him to listen in to what they were saying. Or, rather, what Terano was saying. Shiko was either keeping silent or speaking too quietly for him to hear.

"I told you, Shiko. There is no such thing as a faithful man. Men will cheat, lie, and gamble—it is their nature." A heavy sigh. "Why? Why did you marry him? Why did you forsake yourself? Now look what he's done. He's brought shame upon himself and upon you."

No reply.

"Honestly. You could have been great. You graduated from Waseda with honors. Or have you forgotten that? I suppose I can't blame you if you have. It has been a long time."

Once again, there was nothing but silence on Shiko's end.

Terano took it as a sign to continue. "Shiko, I'll help you. Divorce him, and give him Kiyoomi on weekdays so you won't have to burden yourself with him. You can take half of his money, spruce up your resume and start job-searching. It's not too late. There are plenty of jobs on the market that you could get with your degree—"

_"Enough."_

The coldness in her voice was enough to send chills down Sakusa's spine. His knees were weak. He had never heard Shiko sound like this before. So... _angry_.

"Get out of my house."

"Shiko. You can't be serious."

"Maki, get _out_ of my house."

"Are you this incapable of admitting your own mistakes?! Even after all that he's put you through, you still refuse to see my point of view?"

_"Get out!"_

Sakusa backed away from the door. The house was freezing. Had it always been this chilly in here? He needed to turn on the heating, anything that would—

The doors opened with a bang, and Terano stormed out without even giving Sakusa a glance. Shiko appeared a second later, her face contorted into something grotesque with white-hot fury. He thought she would pick up the decorative vase in the hallway and hurl it at her, but she didn't. She simply stood, seething. It was only when Terano disappeared out the door that all the rage seeped out of her, her shoulders sagging and leaving her worn and weary.

Shiko turned to him, eyes wet with tears that never fell.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Mom..."

Silent as a ghost, she embraced him. He was so much taller than her now—her face was pressed against his chest. A memory emerged in the forefront of his mind—him snuggling against his mother's warm breast, listening to her heart beat as she read _The Art of War,_ golden afternoon light flooding through the windows and hitting the carpet.

Then he blinked, and he was back to the present, standing in the hallway and his house feeling like a tomb. His mother's hands were cold. His own hands were cold. There was no warmth to be found. Not here, not anywhere.

She let go, standing back, the last shred of warmth vanishing with her. "I'm going to check on your father."

"I'm sure he's fine," Sakusa told her, an edge to his voice. "Mom, sit down. I'll make you tea."

But Shiko insisted. "Kiyoomi, please. I can't leave him alone for too long."

"And why not?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it.

"Mom."

"I'm sorry, Kiyoomi, I—"

"Stop!" he interrupted, scowling. "What are you hiding from me?"

To his frustration, though, she shrugged off his question, stepping around him and to his father's study. "Not now, Kiyoomi. Maybe later." She turned around the corner, and he heard her call, "Junji? I'm coming in."

Even through his socks, his feet felt like ice.

Sakusa went upstairs to his bedroom, diving into bed with a heavy heart. His phone, charging on his nightstand, pinged with a notification. Several others before that one appeared on his lock-screen, but he ignored them all.

_Why are you still so kind to him? How can you possibly forgive him for what he did?_

_"I hate you, mama! Hate you, hate you, hate you!"_

_"I know, darling, I know. I know you hate me. Mama hates herself, too."_

He closed his eyes.

There was nothing more he wanted to do now than sleep for a long, long time.

* * *

**October, 2003**

After dinner, Junji took Sakusa for an evening stroll while Shiko cleaned up. The sun was nearly set, and the sky was pink and blue and purple. They walked past the local shrine and to the park. It was deserted, and Sakusa quickly claimed a swing for himself, skidding up next to it.

Junji wiped down the swing seat and chains with antibacterial wipes before Sakusa hopped on.

"Push me, dad!" he demanded, legs kicking out. "Really high, okay?"

"Alright, alright." Junji chuckled. "Alley-oop!"

Sakusa shrieked with delight as he swung forward, then back, then forward again. It was like _flying_. His hair whipped in the evening breeze. Above him, the night was descending upon the earth like a blanket, and the stars and moon were coming out to play.

Here, there was nothing for him to worry about. He didn't need to worry about the other kids accidentally touching him in class, or next week's content quiz or this week's homework. He was free to forget how unkind his math teacher was, and how he needed to hand in his excursion slip by Friday.

But all good and fun things had to end eventually. Junji stopped pushing him, letting him slow to a stop. Sakusa wriggled off, patting his sweater down.

"Time to go home," announced Junji, taking him by the hand and leading him back down the road.

"Today was fun..." Sakusa yawned, sleepy. "Hey, dad?"

"Yes, Kiyoomi?"

"Can we do this again tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"And the day after?"

"We'll do it whenever you want."

A slow, content smile appeared on his lips. "Thanks, dad. But... I know you're busy. You save a lot of people. I wanna do that, too. So you don't have to come out with me all the time."

Junji squeezed his hand. "You've always been clever. And it's true—I am busy. But I'll always make time for you, Kiyoomi."

"Promise?" Stubbornly, Sakusa untangled their fingers and lifted up his littlest finger.

His father entwined their fingers. "Promise."

* * *

**December 11th, 2012**

Sakusa bounced his volleyball on the sidewalk, Komori bobbing his head along with whatever he was listening to through his headphones. Like a total geek, he would occasionally do air-guitars, uncaring of who saw.

Sakusa was glad his face was half-hidden with a mask.

"Do you have to that?" he asked as they walked up the hill that led to his house. Komori's house was further down the road.

"Lighten up, dude," Komori threw back his head and laughed, "It's fun! And mock exams are finally over." They had had to do theirs early due to Youth Camp.

"You're forgetting that we have our real exams coming up in a few weeks."

Komori winced. "Man, don't _remind_ me. Haven't you heard of the saying 'ignorance is bliss'?"

"'Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity'. Ever heard of that one?"

"Nerd."

"Like you have room to talk. I've seen your rock posters. Amy Lee, huh?"

Komori wisely changed the subject. "Hey, you wanna keep walking to my house? Mom's making lemon madeleines."

Sakusa considered it. Tomoka was a devastatingly brilliant cook. Although he wasn't too much of a fan of sweets, he always loved eating whatever Tomoka baked. "Ah," he caved, "Alright, alright. But we're gonna do a thousand receives and a thousand serves to burn off the calories tomorrow at practice."

"Geh!" Komori hung his head. "Me and my big mouth. I should just _not_ tell you things next time. Ignorance really is bliss!"

"You..." Sakusa trailed off, slowing to a stop at the police cars and ambulance in front of his home. Dread filled him, and he dashed the rest of the way up the hill, ignoring Komori's cries.

There was police tape in the front door.

"What's going on?!" Sakusa bellowed at the first officer he saw, yanking his mask down to wrap around the bottom of his chin so he could be properly heard.

The officer eyed him. "You live here?"

"Yes! I'm their son, Kiyoomi. My mother is Sakusa Shiko, and my... my father is Sakusa Junji. He's a lawyer." Just a lawyer. Not Japan's greatest lawyer—just a lawyer. He heard Aunt Terano had been promoted from barrister to a justice of the Supreme Court recently. He didn't like to think about that.

Immediately, the officer wilted, taking off his cap. "I'm sorry, sonny. But... There's no easy way to say this, but your father..." The ambulance drove off. "We're going to do our best to save him."

"What?"

Shiko was escorted out the house, dark eyes wide and faraway. She had a thin blanket wrapped around her, a policewoman murmuring in her ear. When she saw him, she jerked away from the officer, blanket falling from her shoulders as she hugged her son tightly. "Oh, Kiyoomi," she breathed, her voice breaking as she began to cry. "Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi... You're okay. You're okay."

"Mom," Sakusa couldn't keep the panic from his voice, barely noticing Komori sidle up next to him, "Mom, what happened?"

She looked up at him, and her tear-stained face would imprint on his memory forever.

"Your father hung himself."

* * *

Eight hours later, Sakusa Junji passed away.

Everything, including the life insurance, was left to Shiko and Sakusa—enough for them to live the rest of their lives in comfort.

Even in death, the papers continued to print.

Drugs.

Adultery.

Love hotels.

Disgrace.

 _So this is your legacy, dad_.

It was a frigid December.

* * *

**December 20th, 2012**

Sakusa had always hated funerals.

* * *

**January 2nd, 2013**

Their new apartment was a downgrade from _before_ , but it was cozier. Boxes were still stacked in the living room, but almost everything else had been set up. Electricity, wifi, gas, water, the phone line...

The old house was sold for 140 million yen.

"I'm home," Sakusa declared, slipping his sneakers off and putting them on the top of the shoe rack. He could smell his mother's cooking from the kitchen, and he dropped his bag beside the couch before ducking inside.

She was stirring a pot of something on the stove, and he skirted around her to pour hot water into a cup.

"Welcome back," Shiko said, smiling ever so slightly. He would have missed it if he blinked.

Smiling. His mother was smiling. Or trying, at any rate.

Yet, he could not bring himself to do the same.

Instead, he just drank.

The Spring Tournament began on the fifth—just three days from now. Itachiyama were stronger than ever, and it was expected by everyone that they would sweep the competition this year. They'd already beaten Inarizaki and won the trophy during the Summer Interhigh. And while that meant nothing to Sakusa now, it did to the fans and some of the other players.

 _We're counting on you to win again_ , they seemed to be saying, through their wide grins and eager eyes. _But who are we kidding, of course you will!_

Their school team had cycled through multiple maxims for the past two years. Currently, it was the simple _Effort_. Before that, it had been _Invincible_. And before that—

 _Memento Mori,_ Sakusa recited absently, heading down the short corridor to his room. The apartment only had two bedrooms—one for him and one for his mother. The kitchen was joined with the dining room and living room, and there was a single bathroom. _Remember that you will die_.

"The only certainty in life is death," Midorima had said that day, when he and Noriko had become one. "And that's too morbid for discussion today."

"For any day," Sakusa had agreed.

What a fool he had been.

Death was everywhere. Right now, somebody was dying, and somebody was being born. Avoiding the topic did nothing to stop this. If all it took to disturb one's peace of mind was discussion of death, then it just meant that that peace would've been too fragile to survive anyway.

Sakusa Junji was dead.

His _father_ was dead.

"You broke your promise," Sakusa said to the empty room, impersonal and anonymous.

* * *

**December 21st, 2012**

Midorima's shared apartment with Noriko was in the heart of city. Sakusa couldn't remember the last time had seen each other—the wedding, maybe?—but now here he was, sitting at Midorima's dining table. Drinking hot green tea and not touching any of the fruits Midorima had laid out before him.

He didn't know what had possessed him to take up Midorima's invitation to visit. It had been an invitation extended out of pity, anyway, and Sakusa loathed being on the receiving end of _pity_.

_Nothing sucks worse than someone telling you, "You poor thing."_

There were dark circles under his eyes. He had not slept for two days, and the nights he had had in the days leading up to his father's funeral had been fitful.

"I don't know what to say," Midorima rumbled, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips. His glasses fogged up from the steam.

"You don't have to say anything," Sakusa replied. "There's nothing you could possibly say to make this any better, anyway."

"Fair enough. Your tournament's coming up soon, isn't it?"

Distractions were better than pity. Accepting this, Sakusa nodded. "Yeah."

Silence.

"How's your mother?"

"Doing as well as she can be. Yours?"

"I don't know. I haven't visited her in a while."

"Ah."

The glass was hot on his lip. Sakusa held it there.

Midorima turned to glance out the window, one hand tapping a tune on the mahogany table. It was a monochrome world outside. Not even snow or rain to add character to it—just an endless expanse of gray clouds and grayer skyscrapers. "Maybe I should, soon." He paused, thoughtful. "What's happened recently has served to remind me that our parents won't be around forever."

Sakusa dropped his gaze. "You say that like he died of old age."

"Sorry, was that insensitive?"

"I don't know. All I know is that it's how he should've died. Old and gray in the privacy of his own room, not black and white on newspapers."

"Kiyoomi..." Midorima stopped tapping. "How are you feeling?"

Such a simple question, but one Sakusa couldn't answer. "I don't know," he repeated.

He hadn't cried at the funeral, even if his mother had. He'd come close, but the tears had refused to fall. They still weren't falling, and he couldn't find them. They were lost, lost somewhere inside him.

They talked for a little more before Sakusa decided it was finally time to go home.

"Thank you for having me," he said, politely, as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"Don't worry about it." He was an adult now, Midorima. He had been an adult for a while now, and Sakusa had certainly registered his before, but it hit him again all of a sudden. It made everything that he had ever felt negatively toward him seem so small and insignificant. _What was I even jealous of? Why did I act so stupid in the past? Now look where we are. Now look what we've done, what we've become._

Midorima had fine bone structure. Long, muscular limbs and a tall frame. Not gangling, though. Proportional. His lips were a Cupid's bow. Handsome, certainly, in a classic sort of way.

Midorima was married.

Just for the sake of the past and everything that had been good, Sakusa wanted to kiss him.

But he didn't.

_I'm not like my father._

* * *

**January 4th, 2013**

Because they were locals, they didn't need lodging. Not like the rest of the teams coming from Miyagi and Hyogo and Akita and Nagano and who knew where else. So the night before the Spring Tournament officially begun, Komori invited Sakusa for a sleepover. Shiko came, too. Sakusa was far too old to be supervised by his mother, but Shiko would've been too lonely by herself. Tomoka and Shiko shared a room, while Sakusa slept in Komori's bedroom. Poor Uncle Tateo was left to sleep on the couch, but he understood.

Komori switched off his bedroom light and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. A pattern of stars appeared on the ceiling, at which Sakusa blinked in awe. They both sat cross-legged on the floor with blankets wrapped around them, their pajamas consisting of woolly sweaters and long pants.

"Alright!" Komori clapped his hands together. "Time for _karuta_!"

Sakusa raised a brow at the deck of cards sitting innocently on the carpet between the two of them. "Aren't we a bit too old for this? Besides, New Year's was three days ago."

" _Only_ three days ago," Komori emphasized, grinning. "And so what if we're old? We're young at heart, aren't we?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

"Cut the sarcasm already, and let's start."

Karuta played between two people wasn't as fun as playing with a large group, but they made it work. It was almost one o'clock in the morning by the time Komori put the cards away, and Sakusa squinted, sleepy, at the star-patterned ceiling.

"You like it?" Komori noticed his interest. "Mom bought it for me for Christmas."

"Oh. With the drone?"

"The drone was dad's idea, uhhh..." Komori trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable. Sakusa knew why. "Did _you_ get anything for Christmas?"

"Mom bought me volleyball tape and a book on Japanese law."

No mention of Junji buying him a present, which was only natural.

He hadn't even made it to Christmas.

Sakusa flattened out his futon before crawling into it, while Komori climbed into his bed. He switched the lamp off, and the stars vanished.

"G'night," Komori yawned, "Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"Please don't talk about bugs."

"Heh, sorry." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Mm. Goodnight, Komori."

* * *

**January 8th, 2013**

_2-1._

Sweat sliding down his face, Sakusa peered up at the scoreboard. The familiar feeling of bitterness twisted like a knot in his stomach and pulsed like a faux heart. Beside him, Komori stared out into the court, crestfallen.

"This," Sakusa uttered, still looking at the scoreboard, "Even though we practiced everything like we were supposed to."

Komori wiped sweat off his brow, and Sakusa could tell that he was feeling the shocked sorrow that permeated the entire arena. Itachiyama's spectators were leaning over the stands, gabbing and muttering in bemusement as they tried to glimpse the sight of Asagami and Gotoda help Iizuna off the court.

A busted ankle. That was all it had taken to undermine their efforts.

"Are you disappointed?" Komori asked, carefully, when they were on their way out of the court.

"Of course I am," Sakusa answered. "But don't get me wrong. I didn't make some kind of promise to my father that I would win or anything. I know that's what you're thinking."

Komori rubbed the back of his head. "Guilty as charged. Sorry about that."

"Don't be. Just remember that this isn't some coming-of-age sports story. It's real life."

"Hah..." Komori gave him a side smile. "Gotta say, though, real life isn't as fun."

"No. No, it isn't."

It was an upset in the court. Sakusa almost felt bad for the winning team, Inubushi Higashi, but he was glad to leave all the noise behind. He didn't want to deal with reporters or journalists right now. His entire body felt like hell, and he was barely keeping himself upright. _I need to sleep and eat more,_ he thought as he shrugged his Itachiyama jacket on. _I can't neglect my health any longer._ Such a clinical, pragmatic way of thinking, but it was easier to be like this than anything else. _I won't be weighed down by weakness anymore._

His father was dead.

If he had wanted to teach Sakusa about death and loss, then consider the lesson learned.

Now, it was time to move on. To learn other lessons for the future.

Iizuna sniffled. Why was he crying, anyway? Being injured in a game was always a possibility, and he knew it. It wasn't his fault, not really. He could only really be blamed if he had neglected himself.

"Sakusa..."

He perked up at the sound of his name. _Captain?_ "Yes."

Iizuna halted, and Asagami and Gotoda beside him. Then he peered over his shoulder, snot dribbling from his nose. Sakusa half-expected him to ask for a tissue. "I know what you're thinking. I bet right now you're like, 'It's always possible to be injured in any game. What are you crying for?' Right?!"

Sakusa did a double-take, blinking. Then he recovered. "I can understand having regrets if you didn't practice enough or prepare properly beforehand. But I know neither was the case with you, Iizuna-san. So I had to wonder."

"Right!" Iizuna exclaimed with so much energy that Gotoda almost fell over. "Neither was the case! And that's why it hurts even more! Duh!"

"Iizuna, what's wrong?" sighed Asagami.

 _It hurts?_ "Oh." _Of course it hurts._ _Maybe I just didn't feel it because of..._ He didn't want to think about it. He was supposed to be strong now. For his team. For his mother. For his future. "I get it. But I don't want to pity you or say, 'It sucks to be you'."

Iizuna goggled at him. "But it does suck to be me right now."

"Oh."

"Still, I'm happy that you were thinking of me!"

"I wasn't. Not particularly."

"Well, okay then!"

To his abject horror, Iizuna begun to cry. Loudly.

"Iizuna-san—"

"It isn't today, but one day I'll play my last game... And you'd better believe I'm gonna finish that one with a smile!"

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa could see Komori's face tightening up, eyes brimming with tears. He stayed silent, lowering his gaze to the ground. He had been lucky—lucky to be playing volleyball for this long. _I'm sorry, Iizuna-san. But unlike you, I'm ready to let it go._ It made his heart pang just thinking about relinquishing the sport for good, even if he had never really intended to play professionally. He was one of the top three aces in Japan, which was a feat in itself. _But it doesn't matter. Because it's not where I'm meant to be._

_No._

_I'm going to be..._

He zipped up his jacket just as Komori broke down, hesitating at the station his train of thought had arrived at.

_A lawyer._

* * *

Tomoka was waiting outside for her son. Frankly, Sakusa was just amazed that she had managed to find parking. As soon as Komori saw her, he excused himself from the group and ran into her waiting arms, unashamed and unabashed of the public display of affection.

"Oh, you poor dear," she cooed to her son as Sakusa approached them. "I'll cook you your favorite tonight!"

Sakusa bowed to her. "Hello, Aunt Tomoka."

"Kiyoomi-kun!" Tomoka smiled at him. "It's lovely to see you again."

"Are you going to drive Komori home?"

"Since we live so close by, I didn't see why not. It's a further drive to the school than to the arena. Would you like to come along?"

Sakusa shook his head. "Thank you, but it'll be easier for all of us if I took the bus back to school. My apartment is nearer there. Besides," he smirked, "I'm sure Komori wouldn't want me to delay his consolation meal for long."

"Man, screw you." Komori pouted before blowing his nose loudly into a tissue. Gracefully, Sakusa handed him another one, which he snatched from him. "Thanks."

Sakusa turned around to where the others were already getting on the bus. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Mmhm." Komori scrunched the tissues up and shoved them into his pocket.

"I'll have an apple pie waiting," promised Tomoka with a twinkle in her eye. "Oh!" She glanced skyward. "Would you look at that? The first snow."

Sakusa followed her gaze. Indeed, the first snowfall of this winter was descending from the sky. He held out a hand, catching a snowflake in his gloved palm. _Huh. What do you know. They said it wouldn't snow this year._ It was light, but it was still present.

He said goodbye to Komori and Aunt Tomoka one last time before jogging to the bus. The interior of the vehicle was warm, the seats even warmer. He sat in the middle section of the bus. Nobody spoke. Everyone was tired and it was nearly dark due to the season.

Sakusa couldn't keep his eyes open.

As soon as the bus started moving down the highway, he nodded off into peaceful slumber.

* * *

Shiko received him with a hug before pulling back. "How did it go?"

"We lost," Sakusa said, simply. He was surprised she had to ask. He would have expected that Tomoka had relayed the news to her by now. "Didn't Aunt Tomoka tell you?"

"That's a shame." Shiko gave him a sad smile before steering him to the dining area. "And no, she hasn't. It's strange, isn't it? She should be home by now. But never mind. I made you teriyaki salmon and rice."

"You're not eating with me?"

"I had dinner earlier."

Sakusa took his plate of food to the living room couch. He turned on the television, where the evening news was just starting to be broadcast. Lifting his plate, he began to eat. His mother's food brought the color back to his cheeks. Objectively, Tomoka was the better chef, but he had grown up eating Shiko's cooking. After losing, a plate of hot food was just what he needed. The next thing he needed was a good night's rest, which he was determined to get tonight.

Fate, however, had other plans.

It always did. 

The phone rang. 

Shiko picked it up, still wearing her rubber dish-washing gloves. "Hello? This is Sakusa Shiko speaking."

 _"... Iwaizumi is expected to stay in juvenile prison until he reaches twenty-years old and transferred to a proper_ prison," concluded the news anchor. _"In other news, an accident has occurred this evening on Metropolitan Road 319. A vehicle was rear-ended into an intersection before colliding side-on with a truck. Initial reports from the police cite slippery road conditions as the cause of the accident."_

The news helicopter zoomed in on the crash site, and Sakusa's world stopped once more.

_"Sadly, the driver and her son died before emergency personnel could retrieve them from the wreckage. Both deaths are suspected to be instantaneous from the severity of the impact."_

The phone clattered to the floor, and Shiko fell to her knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Surprise? Damn, nobody can drive in this fic LOL
> 
> Here's a picture of [Terano Maki](https://imgur.com/ZiMTC0x)
> 
> Anyway, here's another update! We're stretching into 5 now, yep yep. The next chapter is the conclusion to Sakusa's backstory, and the one where his faith really breaks and his grief comes flooding out. Fun!! After that, we'll be returning to the present before diving into 1 last (short? maybe?) backstory about how Iwaizumi's family has been affected by Iwaizumi's imprisonment. Then it's the trial and the epilogue(s)!
> 
> I'm pretty much obsessed with Death Note (and fine, Lawlight, too) now, but I am PRAYING that it won't interfere with my writing this and future HQ stories I have planned. It shouldn't if I stick to reading DN fics only and not writing them. And considering how utterly intimidated I am by the DN fandom, there is a good chance I will not take that leap. DN is too much of a masterpiece for me to ruin it for myself by experimenting.
> 
> If anyone is confused by what Shiko did to Sakusa in the past and what exactly she's hiding... If you haven't figured it out by now, it'll probably be revealed in the next chapter.


	45. The Tale of Sakusa (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Tateo sues, but the outcome is not the most pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The chapter where Sakusa almost commits arson.

_Why do you smile in death, Komori?_

It was just a dream. A nightmare. Yet, he looked so real, so vivid as the life was drained from his eyes, his entire torso bodied between twisted metal.

Komori's mouth—bloodied and bruised—moved, but Sakusa couldn't read his lips.

_Why do you smile in death?_

* * *

**January 13, 2013**

He was caught in a storm. Torn from the ground and hurled into the sky, skin flayed open by razor-like winds and ice-heavy clouds. Sakusa bled in silence, eyes wide and staring into nothing as he held Komori's portrait against his chest.

Uncle Tateo screamed as black smoke puffed from the chimney of the cremation chamber, falling forward on the grass and sobbing violently into his hands.

Ashes in the wind.

Like snow.

_Slippery road conditions._

The frame of the picture crackled as Sakusa squeezed it, his entire body shaking. He was only vaguely aware of his mother standing next to him, chin tilted to the sky as she bawled without restraint, the toll of losing her husband and her sister in such a short amount of time crushing her into the earth. Her hair was oily and tangled, no longer held up by the neat bun she usually had it in.

"Tomoka!" Tateo wailed, gripping the grass with all of his might. _"Tomokaaaaa!"_

His blood rushed around his ears, and Sakusa stumbled.

Something warm landed on his hand. He looked down.

A single teardrop on his paper-white skin greeted him.

His bottom lip trembled.

Finally, his knees buckled beneath him, and he almost squashed the portrait between the ground and his torso as he landed, a terrible scream tearing from his throat. All the tears he hadn't shed for his father burst forth from the dam he hadn't been able to find for Junji. Sakusa hugged Komori's picture tightly, tears sliding down his cheeks, pooling at his chin, and falling into dead grass.

_"Motoya...!"_

Sakusa's strangled cry for the dead had Uncle Tateo howling again, but he could barely hear him in the wake of his grief. _Grief_. What had he been doing all this time? Deluding himself into thinking that he had any modicum of strength left in him. He would be weak forever if it meant that Komori was still here to support him through his journey.

 _Please, come back!_ His throat hurt. _You've always been here for me._ _Don't leave me alone, Motoya!_

Why hadn't he cherished him more?

Every disparaging thing he had ever said about him, every scoff that he aimed his way, every eye-roll that he had deemed the only appropriate response to an admittedly clever thing he had said—

_"I thought he'd be with us for longer."_

_"Everything dies eventually, Komori."_

_"I know. But I just wanted more time with him."_

_I get it now._ Sakusa squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears did not cease. Would never cease. _I finally get it now._

Death. Loss.

 _It hurts... It hurts so much!_ It was beyond logic, beyond reason. It was a knife to the chest and a punch to the gut—it was all feeling without any rational or intelligent thought behind it.

How could he have ever sneered at Noriko's sorrow? How could he have ever watched those who had attended Oikawa's funerals with unsympathetic eyes?

_Motoya, forgive me. Please, please, please forgive me. I'm sorry for not understanding sooner. Be angry at me, and hate me forever, but just be here. I don't need you to like me, I just need you to be alive._

_Motoya, please._

_Please come back._

_Don't leave me._

* * *

**January 21st, 2013**

Listlessly, Sakusa lay in bed, eyes fixed on the white walls of his room. He didn't know what time it was, only that it was sometime in the afternoon. His mother had called the school again, telling them he was still sick. The past seven days had been one giant blur of confusion and an illness that made his heart ache so painfully that his body was fold into itself.

His room was a disgusting mess.

Instant noodle cups on the floor and chip packets on the top of his clothes drawer. Half-finished drink bottles stacked on the nightstand and a pile of clothes in the corner.

Everything reeked.

He couldn't remember the last time he had showered. He didn't even have the energy to get himself out of bed most days.

His bladder hurt.

He needed to piss.

Sakusa blinked blearily at the sunlight filtering through the blinds, his eyes feeling swollen and heavy. He made no move to get up. There was no thought going on his mind. He was simply existing—existing in his own filth.

His phone chimed with concerned text messages and voicemails and missed calls from friends. He wanted to silence it but it was too far away—a whole arm's length away, in the middle of his circle of water bottles.

His mom would try to get him to eat real food by leaving a tray of it outside his room. But he had locked his door, and the food always went untouched. He would wait until late at night or early in the morning to use the bathroom, so she wouldn't see him.

Sometimes, she begged. She cried and begged and clawed at the wood of the door.

But Sakusa remained curled up on his mattress.

He shifted, a hoarse wince sounding from the back of his throat as he felt something in his neck crick.

It was pathetic.

 _He_ was pathetic.

 _Motoya_ , he thought dimly, _What would you say if you saw me like this? Would you tell me off? You'd say something, right? Let me hear your voice again._

The only sound in the room was the whir of his fan.

There was a thud. Sakusa's gaze shifted to his door. _Mom? Is that you? Are you going to cry again? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm making you cry so much._

Another thud.

His heart leaped to his throat. _Motoya...?_

Then the door swung open, the knob falling to the ground—broken beyond repair—with a loud crash. Sakusa startled in bed, legs tangling around the sea of blankets as Shiko stepped in with a sturdy rolling pin in one hand. There was a scuff mark on it from where she had smashed it into the knob. Her chest heaved. At first, Sakusa thought she was going to beat him over the head with it for putting her through so much stress on top of everything else. Cautiously, he sat up, his bladder feeling fuller than ever and ready to burst.

Shiko's expression crumpled. She dropped the pin, hiccuping softly and bringing a hand to her face. The other ran through her hair, her loosely-done bun falling out of place. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, knotted and unwashed and flat against the back of her head. She didn't say a word—she didn't have to.

Realization dawning on him, the muscles in his face tightened. Then, freely, he began to cry as well. His eyes were already hurting from the constant abuse of tears, but he didn't care anymore. His mother had broken the lock to his room, and the knob with it. She had gone through the trouble of telling the school administrators every day that he was unwell. She had cooked him food—food he hadn't even bothered to eat because he was just so _damn fucking pathetic_. Even after all she had been through, Shiko still had the strength to look after him.

He didn't want to be like this anymore.

But how could he ever live again? Like he used to?

For now, Sakusa merely wept. He cried until his chest ached and his shoulders twitched. A moment later, Shiko had him in his arms, pulling him in close so that he could press his nose against the curve where her neck met her shoulder. She cradled him, like he was not her nearly-adult son but the newborn he had been on the night of November 20th, 1995. Sakusa clutched her tightly, almost choking on a sob.

Shiko was here.

For him.

His mother loved him.

She loved him _so much_.

He could feel it in the way she held him, the way she passed her fingers through his hair— _his father's hair_ —the way she let him just _cry_. He could feel it in the way her heart beat against his, thrumming with life and love and telling him _I'm still here for you_.

"I'm sorry, mom," he apologized, over and over again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"I'm here," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm here, Kiyoomi, I'm here."

* * *

**March 15th, 2013**

His grades had been affected by his spotty attendance, but not as much as he had thought. After that day, Sakusa had gone back to school. Not immediately. First, he had cleaned up his room, then cleaned up himself. His mother had done the same, and they had spent the rest of the day watching television together.

But now he was back, and in time to be watching his seniors graduate from the crowd. Parents dabbed at their eyes as they watched their children receive their well-earned diplomas on stage, grinning like they had just won the lottery.

It was lonely for him, without Komori by his side. He knew he would only be lonelier in the future now that Iizuna and the majority of his teammates had officially graduated.

He didn't want to stay. Shiko, who had been waiting outside for him, led him to the car.

"Come on," she murmured. "Let's go home. Or is there anywhere else you want to go?"

Sakusa shrugged. His _gakuran_ jacket was stifling. "Not really." There were only places to go if there were people to see. And Sakusa didn't have any people to see. Not anymore. "But I..." He hesitated. "I'm quitting the team."

"Oh." Shiko unlocked the car. "But you love volleyball so much."

They got inside and buckled their seat-belts.

"I do," Sakusa admitted. "But I won't have time for it as a third year. I'm going to do an elective—Legal Studies. To prepare me for the future."

There was a gentle smile on his mother's face. "I should've known."

When they got home, he needed something to do. His mother started on tonight's soup, and Sakusa set his focus on unpacking the rest of their boxes, which were collecting dust near the entrance. There were only a few, most of their belongings either having been sold, donated, or already unpacked, and Sakusa knew what was inside. He had been dreading this moment, but he knew he had to get it over with fast, like ripping off a bandage.

He opened them up.

Case files. His father's life's work. Some trinkets he had owned, as well as letters of appreciation he had been delivered during the course of his career.

 _He wasn't perfect._ Sakusa rolled up his sleeves. _But he had a strong sense of justice, and he was my father_. He didn't know when he had come to accept this. But all that mattered was that he _had_ , and he rested easier for it.

If only his younger self could see him now. He would be disgusted, probably. Sakusa had always been prone to offended by weakness and forgiveness and jealousy and vitriol. How silly and unfortunate he had been, having grown too clever before having the chance to grow wise.

It had grown dark outside and dinner was almost ready when Sakusa finished skimming through his father's case files, though the last one gave him pause. Putting the others aside for now, Sakusa flipped the folder open.

The murder of Oikawa Tooru. The case that had been Junji's downfall. He arched an eyebrow as he went through the case. It was so... perfect. So set in stone. All the evidence submitted lined up. Fingerprints, murder weapon, lack of alibi... No, wait. Not everything had been submitted on the first day of the trial. Not everything had even been submitted. A phone call from Iwaizumi's unnamed underclassman that had been deemed irrelevant and rejected by the presiding judge— _Judge Terano Maki_.

_What? Aunt Terano was the presiding judge for that case?!_

This was prior to her promotion to Justice of the Supreme Court. He hadn't even known that she had done a stint as a judge. Tucking that bit of information away, he continued.

Iwaizumi had received several character testimonies—from his father, mother, and brother. Some teammates as well, but not all. Only two, actually. Matsukawa and Yuda, who were both eighteen and thus had their names uncensored. There was a list of suspects slotted inside as well.

It was ultimately the late-submitted DNA evidence—signed off by the distinguished Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito—that had done Iwaizumi in. The prosecution—Prosecutor Karasuda—had been the one to snatch Junji's victory from him.

Sakusa shelved every single case in his bedroom except the Oikawa one, which he threw haphazardly on the nightstand. He was a bit at a loss as to what to do with the rest of his father's possessions, but made the decision to shove them into a space in his closet in the end.

"Kiyoomi!" his mother shouted. "Dinner's ready!"

"I'm coming," he called back, taking one last look at the Oikawa case. It was funny—just this one case had destroyed his family. If he had known that it was the beginning of the end... _No. Everything would have come out eventually at some point. Not taking it would have just prolonged everything._ The fact weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He was tucking into his meal when the house phone rang. Shiko went over to pick it up. "Hello? Sakusa Shiko speaking."

Sakusa didn't really like phone calls now.

He hoped this one would not deliver bad news.

All of the color drained from Shiko's cheeks. "What? Tateo-san..."

 _Uncle Tateo?_ Sakusa lifted his head at the mention of him. He had not seen his uncle since Komori's funeral. Briefly, he wondered how he was doing. Terribly, most likely. _We should invite him over sometime, so he won't be too lonely._

"I see," Shiko was saying into the phone, her voice taut. "Yes. Yes, of course we'll attend. But... Are you sure? It'll be expensive and tiresome... Okay. Alright. Have you found a willing prosecutor yet?"

When Shiko finished the call with Tateo, she sat back down, and a pensive silence befell them.

"Well?" Sakusa prompted, at last.

Shiko took a deep breath. "Your uncle... He's pressing charges against the truck driver who crashed into the car."

Sakusa's eyes widened. Originally, it was the driver who had rear-ended Komori and Tomoka who had been charged. The truck driver had gotten off without any punishment after extensive review. "This... That's great! After all, he was the one who killed them!" It was an effort not to work himself up into a frenzy. Yes, the driver had gotten punished, but it wasn't _enough_. Where was the rest of the justice?

"I suppose," Shiko said, uncertain. Worriedly, she looked out the window. There was a light snowfall. Despite it being March, it was still cold out and frosty. The weathermen of Japan predicted that it would only stop toward the last days of the month.

"We _have_ to win," Sakusa said solemnly. "For Komori. And Aunt Tomoka."

She relaxed. "Yes. We must."

* * *

**March 23rd, 2013**

It was quiet at the courthouse today. This was not the case that attracted a lot of media attention, and Sakusa was glad about that. He was wearing a coat over a black turtleneck sweater, the ends of his dark pants tucked into his shoes. Shiko was wearing red—red shawl, red skirt, and red shoes. She stood out like a sore thumb among the sea of black and gray. Like blood on snow.

And Uncle Tateo—

 _He looks awful_. Sakusa's brow creased in pity. Tateo was clearly nursing a hangover; his tie was loose and his shirt untucked. There was a five o'clock shadow on his face.

"Tateo-san," Shiko gasped, rushing over from where they stood at the bottom of the stairs to clean him up. She pushed his tie up, tucked in his shirt for him, and straightened his blazer. Nothing could be done about his gaunt mien, but it was the best Shiko could do for him.

"Thanks," muttered Tateo, ducking his head in shame. "God, this is... I can't believe this is the only thing left I can do for them."

His mother's eyes were brimming with sorrow. "I'm sorry, Tateo-san."

Tateo peered around her to meet Sakusa's eyes. "Hello, Kiyoomi. I'm glad you came today."

"Uncle Tateo," Sakusa returned the greeting, "Of course I came."

It was a somber scene. The three of them exchanged glances before ascending the steps, scrubbing the bottom of their shoes on the mat before heading into the courthouse lobby. There were not many people today, but the people Sakusa _did_ see made him freeze.

"Shintaro?" he uttered, his voice nary above a whisper.

Midorima Mahiro and his son turned their way at the same time, as if they had both heard Sakusa breathe Midorima's name. Midorima blinked, the only display of surprise that Sakusa's presence would glean from him.

"What are they doing here?" Shiko frowned. "Don't tell me..."

The truck driver, a scruffy fellow who had very obviously cleaned up hastily before coming to court, avoided Tateo's burning gaze. Tateo bared his teeth, and Sakusa had to grab him by the wrist to stop him from beating up the defendant. "Don't, uncle. We'll settle this in court."

Mahiro nodded at them. _I'm sorry we have to meet like this_ , he seemed to say.

Shiko nodded back, stiffly. _Yes. So am I._

After Junji had died, the relationship between the Midorima and the Sakusa family had faded into nothing.

They entered the courtroom. Sakusa and Shiko got a seat in the front row of the public gallery, while Tateo sat down with the prosecutor, talking in low voices about the case. On the defending side of the court, Mahiro and his client also got seated.

Midorima was sitting down somewhere behind Sakusa and his mother.

One last spectator entered before the doors were closed.

"Sorry I'm late." Sakusa tensed at Noriko's murmur to Midorima.

Of course. He had almost forgotten— _almost_ —who Midorima had married. Strange, how it was only two years ago that they had wedded.

The hearing commenced.

* * *

It had begun to snow.

Uncle Tateo broke down at the bottom of the stairs, wet patches appearing on the fabric above his knees as he sank into the snow. White as a ghost, Shiko consoled him wordlessly, crouching beside his hunched form. "Motoya," he sobbed. "Tomoka. Oh, Tomoka, Motoya..."

Sakusa stood in the middle row of the stairs as his uncle warbled, lips bloodless. _We... lost. We lost. How? How could we have lost? He killed them. He. Killed. Them._ Frantically, he glanced around for an answer, and found one in the shape of Midorima Mahiro and his son and daughter-in-law. "You," he spat venomously, making them turn his way. " _You_ did this."

"I did," Mahiro agreed, stolid. "And I'm not sorry I had to." With that, he continued on his way, as if his family's despair meant _nothing_ to him. It made Sakusa's blood boil, made him want to grab Mahiro by his starched collar and shake him.

"How could you? How could you do this—?!"

"Dad," Midorima interrupted. "Go ahead. Noriko, you too. I'll talk to him."

 _'I'll talk to him'._ Sakusa nearly _laughed_ at the absurdity of it. As if he were some misbehaving child. But no, it ran deeper than that. This was not a stolen toy in kindergarten. This was a miscarriage of justice. "You're right. We _do_ need to talk."

"We'll wait in the car," Mahiro declared. "Don't be long, son."

"I won't."

Sakusa smiled, cruelly. "That's not up to you to decide."

Midorima ignored the jab, leading the way down the stairs and to the snow-dusted concrete clearing.

"I'll be back in a minute," Sakusa murmured to his mother, who gave him an imperceptible nod.

"Well?" Midorima said when Sakusa joined him. Here, his mother and Uncle Tateo were specks in the distance. "What is it?"

"You know perfectly well what I want," he snapped, fist curling by his side. He pulled his scarf further away from his mouth.

"I don't. Not really. Please, enlighten me."

"Three months of community service. Your father got him sentenced to three months of _community-fucking-service_."

"It was a fair sentence," Midorima stated, carefully. Did he really believe that? "The truck driver was not to blame for the deaths of your cousin and aunt."

"Bullshit! He _was_! It was the impact from the truck colliding into the car that killed them! Or do you not remember the police report?" Sakusa grit his teeth. "Don't you dare paint this story another way."

"I'm not denying that it was the impact that killed them. But what led to them dying was the driver who rear-ended them on the road. His tires lacked friction, and he has been duly punished to the greatest extent of the law. I'm not sure what more you want, Kiyoomi."

"I want _justice_."

Midorima closed his eyes before opening them, resolute. "Justice has been served."

"He'd been drinking!" Sakusa hissed. "He even admitted to it! How can you say it wasn't his fault?"

"One beer," Midorima stipulated. "He had one beer, and his blood alcohol level was less than 0.03g. A test found he was almost completely sober when he was driving on the 319. You know this."

"And our witness? She said she saw him drink _three_."

"She is not credible. She admitted to being drunk at the time she allegedly witnessed that."

"It was a bar! Of course she was drunk!"

"Which significantly lowered her credibility. That's my entire point." Midorima pushed his glasses up his nose, eyebrows knitted in a deep frown. "Kiyoomi... It's over. Justice has been served. This was the best outcome if you look at it objectively. It may not feel like it to you, but it's true. The driver and his family will be able to live the rest of their lives in peace instead of falling into despair." Thinking that they were done, he turned and started toward the car park.

 _How can you say that? How can you say that?! Where is_ our _justice?_ "Is that all justice _is_ to you? Some… Some _parcel_ that can be passed around as you please?!" demanded Sakusa, marching up to Midorima and pulling him back the wrist. "Well?! Answer me!" Midorima snatched his hand away, leaving footprints in the snow as he stalked down the winding path. "I said _answer me!_ "

"My father does not owe your family justice!" shouted Midorima, whirling back around. "Or do you think that it was fair for that man to go to jail, and for his family to suffer because of his mistakes?!" The mistake of being at the wrong place at the wrong time was the implication.

"I'll only ever be happy if they live in misery for the rest of their _fucking_ lives!" Sakusa screamed, panting.

"I wasn't expecting you to be happy, but _god_. You're _disgusting_." Midorima glared at him. "It doesn't matter how long you have, it seems. To me, you'll always be the same _selfish_ , stuck-up little _brat_ you were when I met you. I pity you... _Sakusa_."

He saw red. "Don't you _dare_...! Don't you _dare_ say that! Don't ever pity me, _Midorima_ , don't _ever_! Pity! Me!"

Justice for Komori. That was the only thing he had had left, and Mahiro had stolen it from right under their noses. Was that what a lawyer did? Lawyers, who were supposed to plead for mercy? _What about my mercy? My closure? Is that really too much to ask for?_

"Then grow up. Grow up, Sakusa, and open your eyes. Justice isn't as black and white as you think it is."

It was a punch to the gut. Sakusa let out a trembling breath. "Then what is it?"

Midorima began to walk away again, showing his back to him.

This time, Sakusa was rooted to the spot. "Midorima! Get back here! If you know so much, then tell me! Tell me justice truly is to you! Oi! Midorima! _Midorima!_ "

_What right do they have? What right do they have to strip away justice?_

Midorima disappeared into the white fog, the snowfall covering his footprints.

* * *

The sound of the kitchen tap turning on. Water gushing out. The blade of Shiko's knife hitting the cutting board as she sliced up carrots for tonight's curry. Sakusa sat at the dinner table, television six feet away and noisy in the living room.

Uncle Tateo was passed out from emotional exhaustion on the couch, the cushions sinking beneath his weight.

He couldn't stand it.

Justice was the last thing Tateo and Sakusa and Shiko could have possibly offered Komori and Tomoka. But they had been denied—denied of their last offerings for the dead.

Denied by that _filthy_ , filthy _lawyer_ and his son.

_They did this. They sullied the name of justice. How dare they... How dare they!_

Sakusa slammed his palm on the table before standing up, making Shiko almost drop the knife with alarm.

"Kiyoomi?" she said, warily, ceasing her chopping.

"I'll be back," Sakusa snapped, pulling winter coat over his black hoodie. He stuffed his feet into his sneakers, grabbed his hat and mask, and stormed out of the apartment. He knew where Midorima's family now lived. Had discovered it when Shiko went to reunite with Marumi soon after Junji's funeral. And since Mahiro had drove his son and daughter-in-law to court, basic reasoning told him that they would be having a family dinner tonight.

He couldn't feel his fingers as he lifted up the garage door—theirs was number three in a series of garages, all for the tenants. His mother's homely little vehicle was inside, and he skirted around to dig around the back shelves.

Finally, he found it.

A three-quarter full can of gasoline. Fighting down the bile rising in his throat, Sakusa grabbed it and a half-squashed box of matches. He kicked the latch of the garage door, wincing when it came crashing down.

If the law would not give him justice, he would just have to take it for himself.

What was there left in life for him, anyway? The people who had truly mattered to him were now gone and ashes and _dead_. _Dead, dead, dead_.

_"Death is the only certainty in life."_

Yes, Sakusa agreed darkly, it was.

He would not become a lawyer. He would never become a lawyer. Lawyers were _scum_ , lawyers stood in the way between the good people and justice—

Sakusa found himself standing on the Midorima's front lawn. Even through the flurry of snowfall that beat against his cheeks and turned them red and ruddy like apples— _Komori had loved apples; apples and apple pie—_ he could see the house had its lights on.

He was shivering.

From the cold?

Yes, it had to be.

He'd walked all the way here with a hardened heart and a blackened soul. He would not back down now. He would... not...

He could see them. All of them, sitting at the dinner table with laughter in their eyes and smiles on their lips. Midorima reached across the table to pass Noriko some gravy, and Mahiro said something which made Marumi swirl the wine in her glass and flutter her eyelashes. They were not the dolls he had seen them as when he was a child. They were breathing and living— _living_. _Alive_.

"No," he muttered, dropping the gasoline can into the snow and gripping his head. "No, no, no... Don't let them fool you. They're monsters."

_They're human._

"No, they're monsters. They took away the _last fucking thing I had_."

_Humanity will stomp each other into the ground and kneel to help each other up. It is dangerous to mistake humans for monsters._

With one trembling hand, he lit a match, holding it up in front of him. He envisioned the house blowing up, fire roaring through the woodwork and the masonry. "This isn't fair," he started to cry, tears feeling like they were freezing to his skin. "This isn't _fair_."

Why did Midorima get to have this? Why did Midorima get to have dinner with his family, perfectly at peace with the fact that his father had decimated the little hope another family had had?

 _And why can't I take it away from them?_ All it would have taken was a ring of gasoline around the property and a single match. _Why can't I do it?_ His hand shook even more violently, and the flame was snuffed out. _How can I... take this away from them?_

_This isn't justice._

All he wanted was them to feel even _half_ the pain he had felt.

And wasn't that how it started? If he didn't kill himself right after this, he would be prosecuted and people would suffer—people would _always_ suffer and—

_Mom._

Sakusa crumpled the match in one gloved hand, staring out into space. Golden light from the windows edged his vision.

He picked up the can of gasoline—

_I'm sorry._

—and went home.

* * *

"Oh, you're back!" Shiko brushed the snow off Sakusa's coat as he entered. "You must be _freezing_. Where did you go?"

"Just for a walk," Sakusa said, meekly. He couldn't look her in the eye.

He had failed.

Failed to exact justice.

 _Justice that wouldn't have been justice,_ he told himself.

If he had gone through with it, he wouldn't have been able to face her at all.

None the wiser, Shiko embraced him. "I'm sorry for what happened today, Kiyoomi."

The clink of a spoon. Uncle Tateo was already eating his curry at the table.

"No," whispered Sakusa, his shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry."

"Kiyoomi? Are you... crying?" Shiko reached up to brush a tear away from his nose.

Shame burning through his entire body, Sakusa stepped away from her, hiding his eyes. "I," he gasped, "I'm sorry. I... _I just miss them so much_. _God_." He could apologize to her forever but it would never be enough. _What am I crying for? Stop... Stop! Haven't I cried enough?_ But he couldn't stop. Would it ever stop? He didn't know. _How could I even have thought of that? It would have destroyed mom. I'm the only one she has left._ The realization hit him even harder, and an embarrassing keening noise emerged from his mouth.

"Shh, shh," she cooed, raspy. She moved in to hug him again and he didn't stop her. "Don't cry, Kiyoomi, don't cry... I'm here. Mama's here."

He breathed in her scent— _home and comfort_ —feeling like an infant again. Weak and vulnerable and everything he told himself he would never be. But today, he allowed it, burying his face in his mother's shoulder. His tears stained her shirt.

* * *

That night, Sakusa sat at his study desk, mindlessly going through some math equations he would need to know for his third year.

There was a knock on the door. "Can I come in?"

The lock and the knob were still broken. "Yes." Sakusa whirled in his chair, removing his reading glasses. He'd been long-sighted since childhood, though that didn't normally interfere with his day-to-day life.

Shiko swept into the room, bare-faced as she usually was and wearing a nightgown. She sat on his bed, patting the spot beside her. Sakusa closed his textbook and took a seat next to her.

"I'm afraid I haven't been honest with you," she confessed. "About your father."

Sakusa regarded her. "Oh."

"I think it's time you know."

He said nothing.

She continued, "Your father's suicide was not out of the blue. I'm sure you have that figured out by now. But what you probably don't know is..." She lowered her troubled gaze. "He had a history of it. Your father had battled depression and opioid addiction ever since college. Continued to battle it through the course of his career. Even after you were born... Sometimes, he would become so overwhelmed between work and looking after you and going cold turkey that he saw nothing but the rope. Tunnel vision. Whenever I caught him trying to kill himself, I'd throw you into your room and lock the door. I didn't want you to see. I'd often forget to turn on the light for you. I know how much you feared the dark as a child, and..." A single tear fell from her eye, and she blinked, as if she were surprised. "I regret it so much. But I could never tell you. In your eyes... Your father was an ethereal hero. How could I take that away from you? So I'm sorry, Kiyoomi."

His mouth grew dry.

_"I hate you, mama! Hate you, hate you, hate you!"_

_"I know, darling, I know. I know you hate me. Mama hates herself, too."_

_I was the worst_. Sakusa chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Thank you. For telling me."

His mother had had it so hard.

But even so, she had never given up on him. Not even once.

Sakusa dropped his head to the side, resting his cheek on her narrow shoulder. "Mom. I'm going to work hard in school from now on. I'm going to become a prosecutor—so I can help people get the justice they deserve. I'm not going to be like dad. Lawyers are—"

"Perfectly respectable," Shiko interrupted, sharply. "Do not look down upon your father's profession. Or have you forgotten the gratitude that the innocents and their families have shown him? In a way, the goal of a lawyer and a prosecutor is one and the same—to deliver justice." She combed her fingers through his hair. "And that is a fine and noble goal. Justice in this world isn't something we often come across. But when we see the opportunity for it to prevail, we must seize it. Lawyers do that in their own way, just as prosecutors have their own methods."

Sakusa stirred.

_Justice in this world isn't something we often come across. But when we see the opportunity for it to prevail, we must seize it._

He liked that.

"I guess," he conceded. "Dad... He did do a lot of good things, didn't he?"

"Yes. He did. He was not always the best husband or the best father... But at heart, he was a good man. And that is all that matters to me. He fell to his demons and trusted the wrong people, but he helped so many more people along the way. They will be forever grateful to him. You have no idea, Kiyoomi, how much power his actions held. And he used it to spread kindness and fairness. So less people would have to be bitter for the rest of their lives." Shiko kissed him on the cheek and stood. "It's very late now. Go to bed, my dear. You can study in the morning."

"Alright," Sakusa stretched, yawning, "I will."

She turned the lights off.

_Goodnight, mom._

_Goodnight, Aunt Tomoka._

_Goodnight... Motoya._

For the first time in months, Sakusa slept soundly.

* * *

**March 2014 — December 2017**

Sakusa Kiyoomi graduated as the second top student in his year. Math and physics had been his downfall, but he was awarded a scholarship from the University of Tokyo's law department for coming first in the entire country for Legal Studies.

In the spring of 2014, he entered university as a freshman.

Sakusa Kiyoomi did not relent. There was nothing he couldn't achieve with the amount of effort and dedication he put into each task. Day after day, it was a tedious monotony of attending classes, doing assignments, and studying late into the night with a fruit bowl on his study desk.

He knew his mother worried for him.

Sometimes, she stood outside his broken door like a shadow.

"Kiyoomi," she said one night, from the doorway. "You should go to bed. It's already two o'clock in the morning."

"I'll go in half an hour," he promised, not looking up from his notes. His hand moved automatically, and the words seared themselves into his brain.

"Kiyoomi."

"I mean it."

Shiko sighed. "I'll come check on you after."

"Mm."

While his classmates let their prestigious degrees do the speaking, Sakusa preferred to speak for his degree. As two-thirty in the morning neared, he packed away his things, brushed his teeth for the second time that night, and got into bed. _I'm a candidate for early graduation,_ he reminded himself, pulling the blankets over his shoulder. _This won't be forever._

His teachers called him a genius.

Sakusa disagreed. It was not prodigy-levels of intellect that hummed in his marrow—it was the drive of spite and hunger and all things primal. He _would_ become the best prosecutor in Japan. He _would_ throw criminals in jail. He _would_ protect the innocent from harm. No, he could not clean up society in the way he cleaned up his room, but if it meant that people could live in more peace than _before_ , then it was worth it. Justice was not the absolute solution. Sakusa had come to learn that nothing, in this human world, was absolute. Justice was innately flawed—when one put a murderer in jail, his family would suffer. When one let a murderer go, the victim's family would suffer (was it inhuman to measure suffering, or rather inherently human?). But that did not mean it did not exist, and was not worth pursuing. This broken ideal that the prosecutors and lawyers of Japan all subscribed to—that the citizens of their nation clung to as their blankets of hope and security—he would just have to run with it. Because as long as humanity existed, he would protect it with the cracked shield they called justice.

He accelerated through the courses. He was in graduate school by the time he was twenty. Before he turned twenty-one, he took and passed the National Bar Exam. The university deans shook his hand and his name was printed across the country's newspapers.

Midorima congratulated him and revealed that he, too, would be moving up in the world of justice very soon, but Sakusa paid him no mind.

They instated Midorima as Chief Prosecutor on the same day Sakusa graduated from university. The youngest Chief Prosecutor in the history of Japan—his wife even more impressive as the youngest Prosecutor-General.

 _Owl-face,_ Sakusa thought sourly, and came up with a rather brazen nickname for her: _The Owl-face of Miyagi_. He would have made it a song, too, if he had had the time. But one cold case solved with police academy hopeful Sawamura Daichi later, and he was licensed to practice law without supervision from his seniors.

His name took Japan by storm. The son of a disgraced, nearly-forgotten lawyer, now establishing himself as one of the greatest and youngest prosecutors of all time. Cases came his way—he won them all, not a single loss to his name.

 _Just like his father,_ people said. _Just like his father, only he's working for the other side_.

 _But so what if I am?_ _Very rarely do people who pass through the system end up being innocent_. And Sakusa could tell them apart the way Junji once had. Those who were innocent and those who were guilty. _I'm covering more ground than my father ever did._

He did not only work as a prosecutor.

Sometimes, circumstances called for him to defend.

Okazaki Hana burst into tears when she was acquitted of a crime she did not commit, makeup running. Eternally grateful, just as all of Junji's past clients had been, and Sakusa knew that the duty of a lawyer was still one to be admired, especially in the face of adversary.

She wouldn't leave him alone.

Sakusa could have filed a restraining order.

But, instead, he hired her as his secretary.

Case after case, day after day...

He fell back into comfortable monotony.

* * *

**May, 2015**

"You're suing them?" Shiko seemed flabbergasted, but Sakusa continued typing away on his computer, reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Every last one of them," Sakusa promised, gravely. "For defamation."

"I don't want this to be a repeat of _that case_ —"

"It won't be. Because this time, I know exactly how to win."

By the time he was done with them, three companies filed for bankruptcy. Several more paid their compensations without issue, and gave out formal apologies to the Sakusa family, and any article ever written about Junji was subsequently erased. Some had been archived, of course, but it was the best they could do.

In the future, people would ask— _What happened to Sakusa Junji?_

And Sakusa Kiyoomi would sleep knowing that he had done his best to guard the answer.

* * *

**April 7th, 2018**

"I'm here because of this."

Sakusa eyed the note in the sandwich bag before putting on a pair of disposable gloves. Kindaichi Yuutarou, with his horrendous undercut and his coffee breath, was looking at him—looking at him so _earnestly_. Tentatively, he removed the paper from its bag and unfolded it, his heart pounding between his ears as he read the lines.

_I will hide_

_I will run_

_I am the one_

_Who killed_

_Oikawa-san_

_Don't look at me with horror_

_I see it in your gaze_

_They are like knives_

_That rip my soul apart_

_Please_

_Please_

_Don't let me drown_

_Sanzu River that reflects in your eyes_

_Like afternoon sun_

In the backdrop, Kindaichi was still speaking. "Oikawa-san was my friend and my senior. Six years ago, he was _murdered_. I came to you because I want him to finally rest in peace. And he can't do that if his best friend is in prison, and the true killer walks free. _Please_ , Sakusa-san."

Murdered... _Murdered_. Oikawa Tooru had been murdered, and the case had left him and his family in ruins. They never had gotten justice. If Kindaichi hadn't shown up today, Sakusa had an inkling he might have lost sight of why he signed up for this in the first place. To make up for all the hurt and the powerlessness and the _injustice_ he had faced. That they had _all_ faced.

Everything was starting to come full circle.

"Hey," Sakusa said at last, stilted. "This better not be some fucking prank." Kindaichi blinked. "I'll get this tested. My father had an entire list of suspects."

Kindaichi looked like he was about to _cry_. "Thank you," he managed, swallowing.

"Now, unless you have anything else to show me, leave. Be back here tomorrow by nine o'clock. And do _not_ be late." He didn't want to waste a single moment.

"Yessir!"

 _A lead. I can't believe it,_ Sakusa stared at the paper, _After all these years..._ He smiled. _Finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The last section is chapter 2, basically! Merry Christmas, everyone! It's the 25th over here in Australia, though it's still Eve in a number of other timezones, I imagine. Still, take this as a present, I suppose!
> 
> Here's a picture of [Sakusa Shiko](https://imgur.com/NsuEB0H)
> 
> Next chapter, we'll be going back to the present! Starting with... SakuAtsu? 0u0


	46. After the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world continues to turn.

**May 14th, 2018**

Atsumu woke up with tears in his eyes. He blinked them away, startled by their presence alone. Disoriented, he sat up, squinting into the darkness. _Where am I again...? Oh. Right._ His throat was parched. He needed water— _stat_.

As he shuffled through the house in a pair of pink, fluffy slippers, he dried his tears.

 _That dream again..._ Atsumu held back a sigh. It was not a nightmare by any stretch of the word. But it did make his heart ache with longing—longing for his other half. For _Osamu_. A sudden wave of loss hit him, and he stumbled to a stop, one hand reaching up to grip the fabric of his nightshirt tightly. He hadn't seen him since he was _thirteen_. If he had known that the last time he would ever see his twin again was on a cold January night with a chasm ripped between them, then he wouldn't have ever let Osamu leave.

Under the pall of the night, Sakusa's kitchen was hauntingly impersonal in its modern design. It lacked any signs of life, looking like it had been cleaned up to be displayed on a billboard in the suburbs. Mouth gaping in a yawn, he grabbed the pitcher from the counter and poured himself a glass of water. The water sloshed in the cup, a drop landing on his finger.

He was heading back to bed when he noticed him.

Sakusa stood on the balcony, glass doors separating the living room from the outside platform. They were open, and the curtains, too, were drawn and swaying gently in the breeze.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Atsumu changed course. His slippers muffled all sounds of walking, and he stopped at the doorway, not quite realizing what to do next. Deciding to just roll with it, he cleared his throat. The noise was more obnoxious than he bargained for—even to his own ears—and he cringed. Sakusa turned his head slightly. "Uh, hey..."

"Oh. Miya." Sakusa turned around fully, leaning against the balcony railing. He was holding a warm cup of something, if the steam coming out of it was any indication. "Why are you still awake? It's late."

"Why are _you_?" Atsumu retorted. _And I told you to call me 'Atsumu'. Goddamn._

"I asked you first."

"Well, I asked you second."

Sakusa cocked a brow. "Are we really doing this right now? It's fucking two in the morning."

 _Whoa. Mister Stick-Up-His-Ass can swear like a teenager? Neat-o._ "Since you're dying to know, I just couldn't sleep, okay?" He would have said more, but the words fizzled out in his brain the moment that damn night zephyr blew between them, pushing Sakusa's fringe back and drawing his attention to the two moles on his forehead. _No. No, no, no. Stop staring. Get it the fuck together._ "And, ah, you? Why are you awake, Omi-kun?"

By now, Sakusa had already learned to roll with the punches that were Atsumu's terrible nicknames. Unfazed, he answered, "Same with me. I don't usually have trouble falling asleep nowadays, but it seems tonight is an exception."

A police siren wailed somewhere in the city.

"So." Atsumu took a step closer, the balcony tiles feeling icy even through his slippers. He closed the sliding glass door behind him. Momentarily, his gaze drifted to the view, and his breath caught in his throat. From up here, Minato City looked even more impressive. _And he gets to see this every night? Lucky bastard._ "You just admirin' the view up here, then?"

"Not really," said Sakusa. "I was thinking."

"Really? About what?"

"None of your business."

"Aw, come on, Omi-Omi. I'm just tryin' ta make conversation. We don't hafta be strangers."

"Hmm..." Sakusa took a sip of his drink. "But we _are_ strangers. We've only known each other properly for approximately twenty-four hours."

Atsumu shot him a grin. "Time is just a construct."

"No. No it is not. If time were a fucking construct, nobody would be dying of old age or being born. And why do you think time travel is impossible? Jackass."

Sakusa Kiyoomi cursed a lot when he was tired. Interesting. "D'ya treat _all_ your guests like this?"

Amazingly, Atsumu could have sworn that he saw a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he said, "Just you. Also, you're the only guest I've ever housed besides my mother, so your question is pretty much moot."

"Your mom, huh?" He'd mentioned her already, but she had almost slipped Atsumu's mind. "If ya don't mind me askin'... What's she like?" The only mother Atsumu had ever known was Akari, and he didn't need to be a rocket scientist to realize that she was more like a random woman that happened to have given birth to him than an actual mother. _I still miss her, though. I know I shouldn't, but I do._ The weight sitting upon his chest was heavier than ever, and he sagged, brow creasing. "You don't hafta say anythin' if you don't want to."

"I don't mind. My mother is the strongest person in the world. At least, she is to me."

"What's she like?"

"She's not much of a talker," Sakusa revealed. "But she's brilliant, and she did her best to raise me. Circumstances weren't always ideal in my childhood, but I can't fault her for that."

"Oh." It was like someone had carved a hole in his heart. "She sounds great. She sounds like..." He paused. "She sounds like she really loves you."

At that, Sakusa peered at him. The edge in his dark eyes had disappeared, or maybe Atsumu just couldn't see it anymore in the darkness. "All mothers love their children, Miya."

"Hah! Sayin' that to _me_ of all people—"

"Mother doesn't necessarily translate to the woman whose womb you came out from," Sakusa interrupted. "If that was the only qualification to being a mother, then motherhood would be cheap."

Atsumu blinked. "Huh. I guess so. So, uh," he stumbled in trying to keep the conversation going, "Hobbies?"

"She likes reading," elaborated Sakusa. "Her favorite is _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu. She also enjoys listening to Pachelbel, and exploring Napoleonic battle strategies." Atsumu opened his mouth, but then closed it at the warning stare Sakusa gave him. "Don't ask. Even I don't understand what she enjoys. The last I heard from her, though, she'd started attending a neighborhood mahjong club."

He let out a low whistle. "Wow, that's a lot to take in. Your mom's pretty popular, huh?"

"Despite herself, yes." Sakusa made a face. "She dresses like a Victorian noblewoman met a twenties flapper."

Atsumu didn't even need his water to choke. "Sounds... _unique_."

"Indeed."

"Guessin' you're not exactly a fan of it?"

"It's not like I exactly have a say in what she wears. She's my _mother_."

"True, true. I can't imagine tellin' _my_ mom what to wear."

They shared a chuckle at that, and Atsumu was sure. Was sure that he could have stayed in this moment forever. The quiet. The peace. He wanted to live in it. Then Sakusa drained the last of his drink. "It'll be three if we don't sleep soon. I'll see you in the morning, Miya."

"Didn't I tell you to call me Atsumu? Like, seriously, I've toldja like—what?—a dozen times now? Keep up, Omi-Omi."

"No," Sakusa side-stepped him, and Atsumu could feel him tense briefly when their shoulders accidentally touched, " _You_ keep up." He slid the door to the side, leaving it open for Atsumu to follow.

Quietly, Atsumu laughed to himself. "Bastard."

He did not dream about Osamu again that night.

* * *

Very rarely did Kunimi Akira ever wake up with the sun. Kuroo Tetsurou did, however, and it was dawn when they stared at each other from across the dorm—Kuroo standing in the kitchen and Kunimi sitting up in his bed—caught off guard by the fact that both of them were actually awake at the same time.

"Well, good morning, sunshine." Kuroo regained his bearings first, waving his spatula at him. He was frying something in a pan. "Had a good sleep?"

"I feel like death," Kunimi said, hoarsely.

"Great. I'm making breakfast. Do you want your omelet with or without fish?"

"Without, thanks."

"And the cheese? Want me to hold back?"

"Nah. You can go wild with the cheese."

"Awesome. Don't mind if I do."

 _Well, this is certainly surreal,_ Kunimi thought to himself as he grabbed his water bottle from the nightstand. It was one of those insulating kinds, and the water was still warm. The whole interaction he'd just had with Kuroo felt like something out of one of Kindaichi's hilariously bad American sitcoms. _And speaking of Kindaichi..._

By now, Kindaichi would have probably listened to Kageyama's interrogation CD. He had gotten to keep his laptop at the hospital with him, after all, after a psychiatric evaluation. However, he only got to have two hours of monitored internet access per day. They didn't want anything to trigger his PTSD.

Yes, PTSD. Kindaichi had been diagnosed with PTSD. _God_. The thought of it made Kunimi shiver, even if he knew, logically, that it only made sense. It wasn't overt, but it was still there, and that _scared_ him. Mostly because he knew that this likely wasn't a new thing. _Ever since that night... I bet... Once his memories came back... So did all the trauma._ But Kunimi would help him through it. He _would_. The whole reason why he had even begun to study psychology in the first place was so that he _could_ help him.

"Oh, hey," Kuroo's baritone broke him out of his reverie, "My girlfriend's coming over today. Just thought I'd let you know. Um, you don't have to leave or anything if you don't want to. I promise we're not gonna do anything freaky."

Kunimi scrunched up his nose. "Gross. Don't even make me entertain the idea."

"Really? Because she does this _great_ thing with her tongue—"

" _Literally_ fuck off."

Kuroo guffawed. "Glad you're feeling better, bud."

"I'm..." Kunimi trailed off. _Huh. I do feel better, actually_. Even if he had gotten up at an ungodly hour of the morning, he felt more energetic than he had for the last few days. Seeing Kindaichi walking and talking again had done wonders for his peace of mind.

"Now I can finally tell you about our eviction notice!"

"Our _what?_ "

"Okay, okay." Kuroo backtracked as he dumped a folded over omelet on a plate. It was slightly charred. "You see, we're not being _evicted_ , per se—"

"What _other_ fucking meaning does being evicted have?! I paid for this dorm, you freeloader!"

"Yeesh, calm down, will you? We're just being... transferred to a smaller dorm. One for two people. The university will refund some of your money back."

"But..." _Of course. This is a four-person dorm. And only the two of us live here._ Still, though. Kunimi didn't _want_ to go. "This is _our_ dorm." _Mine and Kindaichi's and Yahaba's and... Goshiki's. It was ours._

Kuroo turned off the stove before using his spatula to nudge the other omelet onto another plate. "I know it must suck, but... It is what it is, man."

"It's _our_ dorm," Kunimi repeated, stubbornly.

And Kuroo's eyes softened. "I know. I tried negotiating with the deans, but they overturned their previous decision to let us stay when they realized there was an open duo dorm. I'm sorry."

Bitterly, Kunimi hugged his knees to his chest, glaring at his bed-sheets. "No. It's not your fault. I get it. The university needs to save a quick buck."

Kuroo placed the egg dishes on the kitchen island. "Come eat. You'll feel better once your belly's all full."

"Hmph." Begrudgingly, Kunimi got out of bed and trudged over to the island, where he took a seat at the bar stool. "Do... Do you have a marker or something?" he asked suddenly, stabbing his fork through the sheet of egg, meat and vegetables.

"I think so. It's a whiteboard marker, though. I use it for my tutes."

"That's fine. Can I borrow it?"

Without a mouthful of egg in his mouth, Kuroo nodded. "Knock yourself out. It's in the front pocket of my bag."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

A beat.

"So," Kunimi said, slowly. "I've noticed you cook a lot of egg dishes for breakfast."

"Eggs are an _egg_ cellent source of protein."

 _Yes, I know. Everyone and their grandmothers know that._ "Hm. Noted."

"Did you note down the pun as well?"

"You mean that unnecessary play on words? You have the ingenuity of a fourth grader."

"Hey! I resent that remark."

After breakfast, Kunimi chugged his water and went straight for Kuroo's marker while the latter washed the dishes. Then he climbed up onto what used to be Yahaba's bed—the top bunk. With wobbly legs, he stood on his knees, the upper half of his body more than long enough to make up for the gap between the bed and the ceiling. The marker cap came off with a pop, attracting Kuroo's attention.

"You good up there?" he called, wearing a pink apron that said _Kiss the Cook_. The culinary equivalent of Kindaichi's _Big Spoon_ nightshirt.

"Yeah, it'll only take a moment."

Keeping his handwriting as neat as possible, Kunimi began to write in small, neat strokes beneath the line where the wall met the ceiling.

**Kindaichi Yuutarou**

**Kunimi Akira**

**Yahaba Shigeru**

**Goshiki Tsutomu**

Kunimi sat back on his ankles, admiring his handiwork. "'Kay, I'm done."

"What did you do and why do I have a feeling it's vandalism?"

"Just left a little memento."

A declaration of sorts—as if to say: _We were here_.

_Once upon a time, we were here._

* * *

"If it all goes well," the doctor relayed to him, Kindaichi nodding absently, "Then we'll have you discharged by this Thursday."

"Wait." Kindaichi snapped to attention. "Really?"

"Your recovery is going very smoothly. The cast won't be taken off anytime soon, and you'll have to come back periodically for check-ups, but there's no reason for you stay for any longer." The doctor glanced over his shoulder, at the closed door. "Visiting hours are the same as usual. Are you expecting anyone today?"

A little sheepishly, Kindaichi said, "Kunimi, probably." By now, his doctor was familiar with all of his guests.

"A loyal friend," the doctor stated, appreciatively. "What about the others? And... Your parents?"

"Oh." _Right. Mom and dad._ In the whirlwind of chaos his life had been lately, he hadn't had the time to think about his parents. Guilt tugged at him. "Um, I don't know, actually. The hospital notified them, right?"

"Of course. Once, when you were admitted, and another time when you awoke. Not to mention all the sensationalism surrounding your... unfortunate incident."

Slowly, it sunk it. Not a single call from either of his parents. What were they doing? Did they even care? Kindaichi sighed, adjusting his position in bed. "Whatever. I just wanna get out of here as soon as possible." Part of him didn't want to face the music—the messes, the masses, and the chaos—but it was better to get the uncomfortable things done as quickly as he could.

The doctor exited a few minutes later, and Kindaichi was left to his own devices. For a while, he just thought—thought back to what had happened yesterday. After Sakusa, Atsumu, and Kunimi had left, Chinen had sat down beside him and coaxed him to answer some questions. Her bodyguards—was that what they were?—were intimidating, but she had assured him that they wouldn't harm a fly.

They'd gone through everything. From the night it had all began—teeth and tears and anguish—to the day Goshiki had shot him in the shoulder. Just thinking about the metal burying itself in his flesh—holding all of Goshiki's grudges and fury—made him tense, and he gripped the sheets tightly.

"Will you testify?" Chinen had asked him, voice low and pure and patient.

And Kindaichi had swallowed and said, "I will. I have to."

"Good," she'd said. "We'll need you to make a strong case. You're our wild card, Kindaichi-san."

Somebody rapped their knuckles on the door, and Kindaichi had a half a mind to invite them inside. But it was silly. It was probably his doctor again, here to tell him of something that had come up in his test results or something like that—

Kageyama's disembodied head was the first thing Kindaichi saw peaking into his room, followed by the rest of his body. He saw Kindaichi, blinking. "Ah."

"Ah," Kindaichi echoed back, stunned. _Kageyama... Kageyama, oh god, Kageyama... What do I even say to you after all this time? After knowing what happened to you?_ The questions swirled in his head. "Um... Hey."

"Hey." Kageyama, wearing a black hoodie and slacks today, fidgeted. Then he pulled something out of his back pocket, holding onto it for dear life as he shuffled toward Kindaichi's bedside.

It was comforting, Kindaichi supposed, that Kageyama appeared to be as out of his depth as Kindaichi was. He shook his head, cracking a smile. "This is so unreal. _You're_ here to see _me_?"

Unfortunately, something in his tone must have been off, because Kageyama stiffened. "You... didn't think I'd come?"

"What? No, no, I didn't mean..." Kindaichi worried his bottom lip. _That's exactly what I meant. But not for the reason he's thinking! Probably. Does he still think I hate him? Because I don't! Far from it..._ Trying to salvage as much as could from the situation, he said, "Forget it. Sorry about that. It's just that... Well... I-It's been a long time, right? So I didn't think..." _Fuck, I'm digging myself into an even bigger hole._ "You know what? Never mind. I'll shut up now."

Luckily, Kageyama seemed to get it, and brushed it off with ease. "I'm not alone."

"Eh?"

"Knock-knock," a bell-like voice called before a blonde woman stepped in, an elaborate bouquet of flowers obscuring her face. The florets shifted as she tried to peer around the stalks, one twinkling blue eye meeting Kindaichi's shocked gaze. "Hello, Kindaichi-san. I'm glad we're able to meet in calmer circumstances today."

"O-oh...! You're..." Kindaichi searched for the name in his head before wincing. "Sorry, I don't..."

Shino put the bouquet on an occupied table to the side. "It's quite alright, Kindaichi-san. My name is Iwasaki Shino," she told him, amused by his forgetfulness. "I imagine you were quite stressed the first—and last—time we encountered each other."

"Definitely." Kindaichi groaned. "I'm pretty sure a couple of my hairs went gray."

"You look fine," Kageyama stated, blunt as Kindaichi remembered him to be. "But your hair's getting long." Not quite as joyless or as stringent, though, which was a relief. He didn't know what Kageyama had been through in their years apart—the interrogation CD had been but a mere glimpse into his life after middle school.

"Maybe I'll grow it out," Kindaichi said, distantly. He was more surprised that Shino had come to visit him more than anything else. She was, after all, only a fleeting figure in his life. He hadn't even been able to remember her name ( _That was fucking embarrassing_ , he thought, blushing), even though she had known his. It was a nice distraction, however, from some of his more pressing concerns. "So, ah, Iwasaki-san—"

"Just Shino is fine," she interrupted, not unkindly.

"—Shino-san, I... Thanks for coming. Even if we don't really know each other," he tacked on, a little sheepishly.

"Of course I came. You saved my life," Shino said, matter-of-factly.

"You did," agreed Kageyama, fiddling with whatever he had in his hand. "You saved all of us."

Kindaichi snorted, surprisingly acrid. "Don't give me too much credit."

"But it's true," insisted Shino with a startling amount of force. "You talked him down from hurting us." Guiltily, her eyes shifted to his arm, which was in a sling. "You even got yourself hurt in the process."

"But I—"

"Can you just take our thanks?" Kageyama ground out, shoving something in Kindaichi's face. "Here. I got it for you."

"Huh?!" Kindaichi ogled at the palm-sized glass item in Kageyama's palm. Gingerly, he plucked it from where it rested, examining it. _It's beautiful,_ he thought, numbly. "A paperweight?"

"It's not much," Kageyama was saying hurriedly, and Kindaichi knew he hadn't even heard him or his awe in his haste to justify his own gift. "I got it for only a few yen at a dollar shop..."

He told himself he would keep it together today. But, somehow, the sight of Kageyama's humble get-well present between his fingers made Kindaichi's stomach coil. _Kageyama_ had got this from him. _Kageyama_ , who he had spent the better part of middle school loathing. _Kageyama_ , who he had lost touch with years ago, whose experiences he couldn't even _begin_ to understand—

Kageyama blinked at him owlishly. "Are you going to cry?"

"No!" Kindaichi protested, voice cracking. The back of his eyes were already beginning to sting with that all-familiar sensation of oncoming tears. "No," he tried again, more firmly this time. "I..." His words stuck to his throat and he took a deep breath. " _God_. Only you could do this to me, Kageyama. And I don't mean that in a bad way." His fist closed around the paperweight. "I'll keep this forever. Thank you, Kageyama."

Shino had stepped back, allowing the two of them to reconnect with more privacy. The bouquet was back in her arms as she waited her turn to present her gift to Kindaichi.

"It's alright." Kageyama accepted his gratitude gracefully. "I... I'm glad you like it."

"Hey, uh," Kindaichi tried to open himself up as much as possible, his good arm flinging to the side, "Put it here?"

Kageyama stared at him for a long moment before understanding. Without saying anything to further embarrass Kindaichi, Kageyama leaned in. The ensuing embrace was an awkward flail of limbs, and Kindaichi's ears grew hot when he realized Shino was here to witness every second of it.

Kindaichi held Kageyama in his arms for longer than he would've expected himself to tolerate. When they were finally separated, Shino moved forward, holding up the bouquet to Kindaichi so he could appreciate every angle of it. "For you," she said, beaming. "I'll go find a vase to put it in."

"Thanks," Kindaichi smiled, "They're beautiful."

"Carnations," Shino informed him as she searched the room for a vase. "For love and good luck." She found one in the cupboard of the kitchenette. It was dusty, and she had to set her flowers aside again to wash the vase off under the tap.

"Hah. I haven't had much of either lately, especially _love_. I can't even remember the last time I went on a date."

"Kunimi loves you," Kageyama said, very seriously.

Kindaichi nearly choked. "Kageyama!"

"What? It's true. He's loved you since middle school."

"Well, yes, but—but not like _that_."

Kageyama was bemused. "Like what?"

"Romantically," Kindaichi clarified, cheeks going red. "Kunimi doesn't love me romantically. We're more like brothers than anything else. It'd be, like, incest. Also, I like women." _And I'm not sure if Kunimi is even attracted to other people._

"Oh, okay." And that was that. Or so Kindaichi thought. "I like men."

"Huh?!"

"Is that okay with you?"

"I—yeah, it is! I'm just surprised, that's all."

Kageyama nodded. "That's okay. I just figured it out recently."

 _Kageyama_ having a love life of all things was definitely the last thing Kindaichi had expected to hear today. He wriggled upright, barely feeling the ache in his shoulder. "So who is it? The lucky man."

"Hinata," said Kageyama, not providing a first name. Unless that _was_ his first name. But wasn't that a woman's first name? "About yay-high," he raised his hand to somewhere around his chin, "orange hair. Compact. Moves around a lot. Like a cockroach." His expression never changed when talking about his lover, but Kindaichi was still just frankly in awe with the fact that Kageyama had managed to secure a partner before him. Or, at least, have someone he liked.

"Oh, Kageyama-san," Shino sighed in fond exasperation as she arranged the flowers in the vase. "You're just saying that because he's right outside."

Kindaichi turned to her. "He's what?"

To demonstrate, Shino opened the door. A man fitting Kageyama's description almost tumbled inside, clearly having had his ear against the door before Shino exposed him. Hinata, squatting on the floor, stared at them. "Uh."

Kindaichi stared back. "Uh."

"Dumbass," Kageyama berated, though it wasn't serious. "Why didn't you just come in with us?"

Hinata spluttered, drawing himself up to his full height. "I told you! I didn't wanna overwhelm him with so many people inside."

"Oh, it's alright," Kindaichi said without thinking. "You don't exactly take up much space."

Dejected, Hinata hung his head. "Ah. So that's how it is..."

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"He's right, though," Kageyama chimed in, unhelpfully.

"Hey!" Hinata and Kindaichi yelled, indignant, at the same time. They exchanged a glance before breaking into chuckles and snorts.

"So," Kindaichi started as the laughter tapered off, "How did this even happen?"

At the dreaded question, Kageyama blushed. He blushed. Wow. Kindaichi was never going to get used to this, was he? Hinata wasn't much better, going even more red-faced than Kageyama was.

"It was _her_ fault." Kageyama pointed an accusing finger at Shino—who simply kept adjusting the flowers, unfazed—as if she had committed a very violent war crime rather than do them the favor of getting them together.

"Don't be so rude, Bakageyama," admonished Hinata, jabbing him in the ribs with one elbow. "She barely had to do anything before I started kissing you back."

The redness of Kageyama's cheeks spread to his neck and ears. Kindaichi was certain he would have to call him a doctor sometime soon. "Dumbass," he said again, impact loss in his delivery. "Don't go around telling people this stuff..."

"Why not?" Hinata teased, grinning.

Kageyama had nothing to say to that. Knowing he had lost, he grumbled and turned to Kindaichi. "It started this morning..."

* * *

**Some hours ago**

_Shit, I'm late._ Kageyama blamed it on the bus. On the traffic. On his untied shoelaces, even. His sports bag—one he had been using since high school to carry everything in—thumped against his torso as he dashed from the bus and toward campus. Their first joint counselling session together and he was _late_. Kageyama screeched around a corner, his heart leaping to his throat when he saw the counselling centre. He raced toward it, dodging wandering students precariously holding trays of coffee or ice tea.

He arrived at the centre with his hair sticking out in various spots. He smoothed it down as he walked up to the front desk, where a woman he assumed was Dr. Nakamura's T.A. was sitting. She was young—maybe his age—with dirty-blond hair and glasses perched primly on her nose as she typed away on her laptop.

Kageyama cleared his throat. She looked up. "I'm here for an appointment with Nakamura-sensei."

The T.A. perked up. "Oh! Of course." She checked over a clipboard she had next to her. "Kageyama Tobio-san, correct?"

"Yes."

"My name is Mitsuhara Otome," she introduced herself enthusiastically, standing up and bowing swiftly. He mirrored the action. "It's nice to meet you, Kageyama-san. Nakamura-sensei is inside," she gestured down the hall, "with your friend, Hinata-san. Don't worry—I doubt they've started without you. Hinata-san himself only got here a few minutes ago."

"Okay, thanks." He was about to part from the front desk before he paused. "Excuse me, Mitsuhara-san..."

"Yes?"

"Is Kunimi in?"

Otome looked surprised. "Oh, you know him? He's not here today. Sorry about that."

"It's fine. I didn't expect him to be here anyway." It would not do good to keep the doctor and Hinata waiting. So, bidding silent farewell to Otome the T.A., Kageyama made his way down the corridor.

There was little fanfare as he entered and sat down next to Hinata, murmuring, "Hey." There was no visible clock in the room. He turned. Oh, there was one. But it was positioned so that only the counselor could see it.

"You're late, Bakageyama," Hinata reprimanded, tone lighthearted.

"Sorry. Got stuck in traffic." The apology was directed more to Dr. Nakamura than Hinata.

"That's quite alright," Nakamura replied, calmly. Regardless, something in his tone had both of the men sitting up straighter. "Now... let's begin with a simple test." He slid forward across the desk two sheets of paper. Looking down at it, Kageyama could see that it was a questionnaire of sorts. "This is a TST. A Twenty Statements Test. All you have to do is fill out the blanks with twenty sentences about yourself. Beginning with 'I' if you'd like."

"That's it?" Hinata picked it up, frowning slightly. "There's no catch or anything?"

Nakamura smiled. "No, there's no catch. Only a time limit. Five minutes."

"We just write..." Kageyama squinted at the paper, skeptical. "Anything?"

"Yes. Anything about yourself that comes to mind. Oh, and boys..." There was a glint in the counselor's eyes. "It's not a race."

Hinata and Kageyama stiffened, the former grinning abashedly.

"Your time starts now."

Picking up his pen, Kageyama began to write.

* * *

The counselling session wrapped up in an hour and a half. Hinata and Kageyama bowed to him, expressing their thanks for his time, before leaving his office. Otome said goodbye to them as they walked out, noise assaulting their ears when they stepped outside.

Hinata stared straight ahead, lost in thought. He was vaguely aware, however, of Kageyama shooting him prodding looks. It had been... weird. Having his mind and soul laid bare by Nakamura. Only the first session, but Hinata already felt like he understood more of himself than he liked.

"Hinata?" There was a concerned quality to Kageyama's usually gruff voice, and Hinata's heart swelled abruptly.

"Oh! Sorry about that, Kageyama." Hinata laughed it off. "I'm just... thinking."

"About?"

"All sorts of things," Hinata told him as they walked through campus, aimless. The students around him blurred into faceless entities. Now, it was just him and Kageyama in their small, small world. "You know." He glanced up at the sky. The sun was shining brightly. A perfect morning. "All things considered, I think I'm in a pretty good place right now."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say.

Hinata thought it was cute. He threw him a bone, side-stepping in a random direction. "Hey, do you wanna maybe—"

"Wait." Kageyama tugged his sleeve. "Look." He was pointing at two people standing on the opposite side of the clearing.

"Oh!" Hinata exclaimed, also spotting the pair of blondes. "It's Shino-san and... uh..."

Shino and the other blonde noticed them from across the square and immediately went to close the distance between them. "You guys!" she greeted, exhilarated by just their presence. Hinata didn't blame her—he felt the same way. After what had happened, just seeing her again was a breath of fresh air—something Hinata and Kageyama both sorely needed.

"Shino-san!" Hinata hugged her. "It's good to see you again!"

"You too, Shouyou-san!" Shino nodded at Kageyama as she pulled back from Hinata. "Same goes for you, Tobio-san."

"Yeah, hey," Kageyama offered, not as enthused.

"Shino-chan?" the other blonde said, hesitantly. "These are friends of yours...?"

"Oh, yes." Shino dragged her closer so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder. "Shouyou-san, Tobio-san, this is my big sister, Sayori."

Politely, they bowed to her.

"Nice to meet you, Sayori-san," Hinata said, smiling. "I'm Hinata Shouyou!"

"Kageyama Tobio," muttered Kageyama, a little awkwardly. "It's nice to meet you..."

Sayori bowed back. She was beautiful in the same understated way as Shino, soft features accentuated by light makeup. Her eyes were chocolate brown. "Likewise." The older Iwasaki fidgeted with the strap of her messenger bag. "Shino-chan, if we want to get there in time for visiting hours, we should go find a shop right now."

"You're right." Shino hummed. "But... Tobio-san, Shouyou-san, do you want to come with us? We're going to buy a present for Kindaichi-san."

Hinata peered at Kageyama, noting how he seemed to freeze up. "A present?" Kageyama parroted. "For... Kindaichi?"

"I'm thinking flowers," Shino continued dreamily, unaware of Kageyama's internal conflict. "They're a classic. Not to mention, certain flowers symbolize certain things."

Sayori poked her sister's shoulder. "I saw a flower shop, like, five minutes ago. You wanna go check it out?"

A present was a great idea in Hinata's opinion. Kindaichi _had_ saved their asses, and the least he deserved from them was a visit and a get-well gift. To Kageyama, he said, "Come on, Bakageyama! I don't know what happened in the past between you guys, but I'm sure it'll cheer him up."

"I'm not hung over the past," Kageyama said, irritably. "I just..." He coughed into his fist. "I don't have much money."

"So? It's the thought that counts. Come on—I'll help you pick something out."

"Hinata, I have two-hundred yen on me right now. That's not even enough for an instant meal from Lawson."

"Um..." Sayori lifted a hand, like she was back in the classroom. "Actually, I also noticed a dollar store next to the florist... I'm sure you'll be able to find something there." There was a fog of perpetual melancholy that hung around this girl. As if something had happened to her in the past—something that she had never gotten over. Hinata, of course, didn't know what it was. Hadn't the slightest clue. But it made him just a little more partial toward her.

Hinata nudged Kageyama. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's go."

"Fine."

Together, the four of them meandered through campus. Unfortunately, Sayori's sense of direction was poorer than she had first made it out to be, so they took their time browsing stores.

An exasperated Shino was checking her phone when they walked past the same fountain Hinata had seen fifteen minutes ago. "The florist and the dollar shop are a five minute walk away in the _opposite_ direction. Sis!"

"Geez, _sorry_."

Eventually, they made it.

The sisters dove into the florist, while Hinata and Kageyama entered the dollar shop next door.

"What do you think?" Hinata asked, holding up two gnomes he had found in the outdoor section of the shop.

Kageyama deadpanned. "Those are hideous."

"Aww, they're kinda cute, don't you think?"

"What would Kindaichi even do with a garden gnome? He's bound to a hospital bed."

There was the slightest, slightest pout on Kageyama's face as he examined the gnomes. Hinata faltered, nearly dropping both of the ceramic monstrosities on his foot. Up close, Kageyama was...

"Oi, dumbass. Are you listening? I said put those back."

And the moment was ruined. Hinata didn't mind, though.

He didn't know when exactly he had started feeling this way. But as he trotted after Kageyama, the latter scouring the shelves for something cheap and gift-worthy, Hinata smiled to himself.

Kageyama halted abruptly, and Hinata almost slammed into his back. Curiously, he stepped around him so that they were standing side-by-side. "What is it? Did you find something?"

Kageyama didn't answer. Instead, he just held up a lovely paperweight he had gotten from the clearance bin to the light. Hinata gaped at it. _Kageyama has better taste than I thought! What a lucky find. Would he ever get me something like that?_ He waved that last thought away. Last he had checked, Hinata hadn't been shot and sent to hospital.

"Hinata," Kageyama turned to him, urgently, "Do you think he'll like it?"

"Well, yeah," Hinata answered. "Why wouldn't he? I think he'd like anything from you."

"Okay. I'll get it then."

 _When did I ever get so moon-y over him, anyway?_ Hinata thought, feeling the back of his neck heating up. In front of him, Kageyama was paying at the counter. _I know I like him. But... How do I tell him that?_

No way in hell was Kageyama the sort of person to pick up on hints. He was all direct action and straightforwardness packed into a human shape. His worst enemy would have to pie him in the back of the head to make him understand that they were, in fact, enemies.

"Gah! Why did I have to fall in love with someone like you?" Hinata muttered to himself as he stalked outside. The sisters had already bought the flowers and Kageyama was not too far behind Hinata.

"What was that?" Kageyama sidled up to him.

"Nothing!"

"You weren't talking shit about me, were you?"

Hinata wheezed at the absurdity of such a statement. "Of course not!" _More like the opposite!_

Watching their bickering, Shino and Sayori exchanged a knowing glance that went unnoticed.

"Well," Sayori announced, loudly. "I have my book club to get to. Boys, please look after my little sister from perverts on the bus. If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive you guys."

The notion of responsibility over Shino's safety had them straightening their backs.

"We don't let you down," Hinata promised, and he meant it. " _Kageyama_ here has experience beating people up and _I_ won't hesitate to bite."

"That's... reassuring? Anyway! Call me when you get to the hospital, Shino-chan."

"Will do," Shino assured her. "Now stop being a worrywart and go already, sis."

Once Sayori was gone, the remaining three headed for the bus stop. Shino dedicated equal parts of conversation to them, though Hinata was ultimately the more responsive one. Even so, he was only half-there, the half of him being—

Shino cocked her head. "You're not paying attention, are you?"

 _Busted._ "Uhh... Shino-san, I—"

"No need. I understand. And I would like to apologize in advance for this."

"What do you—"

Shino shoved him. Had he awoken a demon in her? Oh, god, girls were _scary_ —

"Hey, watch it...!" Kageyama caught him, Hinata's forehead knocking against his chin. The plastic bag containing the paper weight was crumpled between their bodies. "Ah."

"Ah."

Hinata stared up at his face. Kageyama had ridiculously long eyelashes for a guy. God. Fuck. The proximity was turning his brain into mush, evidently.

"Oh my god," Shino groaned. "Can you two just... Just _do it_ already? The bus will be here in two minutes."

"Do what?" Hinata yelped. "Wait, you're not thinking of something lewd, are you? Shino-san!"

Shino was horrified. "Shouyou-san!"

"It's a valid question! Anyway, I'm sure Kageyama wouldn't want... to..." Hinata waited for Kageyama to protest their current situation, but he said nothing. Even continued to hold Hinata close to him like he was still in danger of falling onto the sidewalk. "Kageyama? Hello? Earth to Kageyama."

"Hinata. Can I kiss you?"

The last brain cell in Hinata's head fizzled out of existence. "What. Wait. Yes. I mean. Yes? Wait, _you_ want to kiss _me_ — _mmph_." Not rough and impatient, but not timid or probing either. Firm. Solid. Kageyama's lips were warm. They were also out in public. Would people care? Probably. But Hinata didn't.

"Oh, finally," mumbled Shino, clutching her bouquet closer to her chest. "The tension was unbearable."

Hinata didn't hear her.

When they finally broke away, Kageyama was frowning. Hinata's face fell. Had he not liked it?

Then, slowly, Kageyama asked, "Does that mean we're dating now?"

Oh, he was an absolute _imbecile_ , but Hinata wasn't much better. He burst into laughter. "Do you _want_ to date me, Bakageyama?"

"Uh. Yes. I'm pretty sure I do. That's what you do with the person you like, right? When they like you back, you... date them." Kageyama looked to Shino, as if expecting affirmation.

She shrugged. "I don't have much experience on that matter, but that's generally how things work, yes."

The bus pulled up.

"Hey, Kageyama?" Hinata said as they stepped on, scanning their bus passes.

"Hm?"

"I like you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you haven't been paying attention, Iwasaki Sayori is one of Oikawa's ex-girlfriends from past flashbacks :P Relatively unimportant, just exists to flesh out the world of this story.
> 
> Fun fact, though: In the original story she appears in, she commits suicide and Shino had a brain injury that prevented her from feeling emotion. Here, however, she is still alive, and Shino is mentally well (and rooting for KageHina).
> 
> Here's a picture of [Iwasaki Shino](https://imgur.com/QHAvNlH)
> 
> This will likely be the last SS update for this year! One ending on a relatively happy note as well.
> 
> So... I guess I'll see you all next year! Happy (early) New Year, and hopefully 2021 treats us all a little better :)


	47. Article 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa goes out with Atsumu and makes plans.

**May 14th, 2018**

Eyes round, Atsumu spun slowly in place, taking in everything that was assaulting his senses at once. The noise of idle chatter, of students yelling for their friends across the square. The overpowering smell of coffee wafting from a small cafe to his right. The sight of colorful banners advertising the upcoming May Festival.

"This is amazing!" he cried, grinning widely. He spun one more time before stopping to say to Sakusa, "And this is your alma mater?"

Sakusa didn't seem to share his enthusiasm, but he didn't care. Sakusa was a rich prick who had been spoon-fed an education from kindergarten till graduate school. Atsumu had never even stepped foot into a university before now. "Yeah. I graduated from here two years back."

"God, I can't believe you're my age." Atsumu tugged on the strap of his cross-body fanny pack. The fabric of his white tee moved with it, and he had to pull his shirt back into place. Sakusa was so grown-up compared to him. Educated. Well-spoken. Well-dressed, even, and Atsumu wanted to take a picture of him just because of how damn good he looked in a black turtleneck and a tan overcoat. It was the middle of spring, but it was cool enough today for him to pull it off. "So lifeless. Where's the joy? Were you bullied at school?"

"Nobody _bullies_ when they get to college," Sakusa corrected. "Rather, it's more like I faced social exclusion." He sighed, and Atsumu knew he must have let his expression fall. "Don't give me that look. I _chose_ that path. Making friends wouldn't have mattered, anyway—I graduated early."

"Somehow, I just knew you'd be a smartass. But having no friends? That's sad, man, even for us."

Us. _Us_. The word that grouped them together in the same category of friendless, asocial weirdos despite their differences. Sakusa's nostrils flared briefly, as if he were rather insulted by the implication, but Atsumu pretended he was none the wiser of his vexation. "It's for the best."

"Why do I doubt that?" muttered Atsumu. Louder, he said, "So, why are we here again?"

"I told you," Sakusa strode ahead of him, hands hidden comfortably in the wide pockets of his overcoat, "There's someone I need to see. And you're here because you wouldn't stop whining about what's on the cable."

"Who _doesn't_ have Dizney channel? Is your life some black and white photograph of misery?"

"I am not a _child_. Why would I waste money on a subscription for a channel I'll never watch?"

"Whatever. You're such a joykill." Atsumu noticed a hot dog stand, smacking his lips. "Hey, uh, can we—"

But Sakusa was one step ahead of him. "We ate a wholesome breakfast before coming here."

"Aw, _come on_."

"No. We have food at home." He wrinkled his nose. "Also, do you have _any_ idea what they put in those things?"

Atsumu was unfazed. "A good ol' hot dog never hurt anyone." Sakusa was a lost cause, though. "Who are we gonna go see?"

"An old professor of mine," Sakusa told him, his eyes glazing over momentarily. But then he walked under a zelkova tree and the sharp glint that was usually present in his gaze was back. "He was the one who ensured my talents wouldn't go to waste by keeping me back."

 _So this guy is responsible for this monster of a lawyer?_ Atsumu's brows rose. That was interesting. He wondered what he was like—probably old and stooped with a few teeth falling out. The kind that looked like he would be blown away by a gentle breeze by still maintained an aura of authority.

Allowing Sakusa to lead the way, Atsumu trotted after him, still entranced by the beauty of the university and campus life. He'd been wrong before—Sakusa was grown-up, yes, but so was Atsumu. They'd both outgrown their peers in different ways, and seeing men and women his age have only their next assignment due date to fret about was jarring. How many of them had worried over bills? Had roughed it in the streets? Had spent their days under the hot sun and wheeling concrete and bricks through a chaotic construction site for minimum wage? They were spoiled— _privileged_. And they probably didn't even register it—not on a conscious level, anyway.

Yet, Atsumu could not bring himself to resent them. Not fully. Maybe they had their own troubles he wasn't aware of. And even if they didn't... He was past the age of throwing a tantrum because strangers had been able to enjoy their youth longer than him.

 _Geez. I feel like an old man._ He stared blankly at Sakusa's broad back. _Does he feel like this, too? Like he's not even living in the same world as them, even though he should be?_

"We're almost there," Sakusa announced five minutes later as they ascended the stairs to the law building. "Wait outside for me."

"Can't I come in, Omi-Omi?"

"No. This is a private conversation."

Atsumu huffed. "What am I supposed to do, then? Twiddle my thumbs?"

"If you would like. Just don't get into any trouble."

That jerk! Atsumu's lips twisted into a forced smile. "Of course not. I'm offended you would think such a thing, Omi."

Sakusa narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. Then he stalked down the corridor, disappearing around a corner. The sound of a door opening and closing. Humming a tune under his breath, Atsumu wandered around the bottom floor of the law building. It was certainly something. A little drab, but in a minimalist sort of way. Atsumu had never really understood minimalism. He thrived in clutter. As long as he knew where everything was, that was.

Back then, he'd had Osamu to count on when it came to digging up lost homework excitements and missing highlighters.

Atsumu's lids lowered until he was looking at a Baroque painting through the film of his eyelashes. _Ah, 'Samu. You have no idea... How much I miss you_. He couldn't tell whether it was for better or worse that Atsumu had had almost ten years to get used to his brother's absence. Sure, it was easy to think _I'll see him again one day_ because he'd been thinking it for the last decade, but reality had shifted to the left. There was no more _next time_ or _one day_ because Osamu was _dead_.

Being apart from Osamu had been like constructing a wall between them. A wall that Atsumu, once upon a time, could have beaten down with the knowledge that Osamu was definitely on the other side. But he hadn't—the wall was still there, but he knew that Osamu wasn't. If he broke the wall down now, there would be no one waiting for him on the other side. Just an empty space where the person he loved most had once been.

A few students passed through the lobby during Atsumu's loitering. Most of them traveled in pairs or groups—always with other people. Very rarely was someone by themselves.

It made a prickle crawl up his spine, knowing that he was one of those few. He didn't like it—it made him stand out more. Maybe it even allowed them to guess. Guess that he wasn't actually a student and was actually some high school dropout with no future to look forward to. Atsumu wiped his clammy hands down on the fabric of his jeans.

Finally, in what seemed like an age, Sakusa emerged from down the hall, talking animatedly with an older man—his former professor, undoubtedly. Legs working on autopilot, Atsumu sidled up to him, and the conversation ceased.

"Oh, good," Sakusa said. "The hall is still in one piece."

Atsumu rolled his eyes. "Didja think I'd set the place on fire or somethin'? I'm not some unhinged psychopath."

At the notion of arson and Atsumu's scathing remark, a muscle in Sakusa's cheek twitched. "No. No, of course not. Why would you be?"

 _The heck? Omi, you're a real weird one._ Outwardly, he kept a pleasant demeanor. "Ready to go?" Atsumu didn't bother greeting the professor, not caring for politeness. He just wanted a hot dog, goddamn. Could Sakusa not afford to buy him a single hot dog? Atsumu swore he would pay him back when he could.

It was too bad, really, that the professor seemed to have taken an interest in him. "So," mused the old man, his mustache quavering. "He must be your witness. Is that correct, Sakusa-kun?"

Sakusa scoffed. "Sadly."

Atsumu frowned. "Hey!"

"I prefer witnesses who don't live in my house and make a nuisance of themselves."

"You're the one who invited me!"

"Because I want to keep you safe. I'm allowed to complain about my job and responsibility as a citizen of Japan."

The professor chuckled. "I see you two get along quite well."

Well? Him and Sakusa. Atsumu gave him a look. Was he, perhaps, going senile? He waited for Sakusa to make some kind of verbal agreement, but the man didn't so much as even grunt. Instead, he avoided the subject and said, "Thank you for your time today, Aoyagi-san."

"Don't thank me yet, my boy," Aoyagi dismissed with a shake of the head, "While it's true Karasuda and I were friends during college, we have long since lost touch."

"I trust you," Sakusa said, honestly. "I'm sure you'll be able to pull a few strings."

"I suppose we'll have to see..."

They said goodbye to the professor, and Sakusa and Atsumu were off.

"Hey," Atsumu began. "What did you guys talk about? And who's Karasuda?"

"We caught up a little," recounted Sakusa. "Despite her oddities, Chinen is a stickler for the rules and does everything by the book. She won't allow outside help from a suspended prosecutor. And I don't have any way myself to set up an in-person meeting with Karasuda—he's the other prosecutor working on the case. I would like to at least consolidate with him if possible."

"Can'tcha email him? Or phone?"

"All emails and calls go through his secretary." Sakusa appeared quite unhappy about that. "She's a spiteful _hag_. Her specialty is malicious compliance. She'll delete anything from me."

"Just walk into his office, then."

"I'm banned from the building."

Atsumu blinked, incredulous. "What did you _do_?"

Sakusa gave him a wry look. "Light the place on fire? Long story short, though—I upset a powerful person with personal stakes in, well, everything."

The blond bit his lip, guilty. "It's to do with me? Well, fuck."

"Not just you," Sakusa corrected. "But Oikawa and Iwaizumi as well." He hummed, contemplating. "Although... It wouldn't be a far stretch to say that you're the centre of everything."

 _The centre of everything._ Nothing about that sentence sat right with Atsumu. Maybe he would have loved the attention once upon a time, but he was no longer than wide-eyed, naive little boy with dreams bigger than reality could offer him. Now, Atsumu just wanted to get on with his life in peace. Find love and settle down, perhaps. Grow old. Be content with being... average. Who cared about being average, anyway? As long as it made him happy. _Will it?_ "I never asked for this."

"Me neither," Sakusa replied, more contrite than earlier, and the words held something heavy—something that Atsumu would likely never be privy to considering how guarded the prosecutor was. He stopped, glancing at the hot dog stand they had passed earlier. "You wanted one, right?"

"Eh?"

"A hot dog."

"Oh—yeah."

Sakusa took out his wallet from his back pocket, heading for the stand. "Let's go get some, then."

"Wait, for real?" Atsumu grinned, padding alongside him. "That means you like me, right? More than before, at any rate."

A noncommittal grunt. Good enough.

Sakusa ate his hot dog extremely cautiously, careful not to get any sauce on his mouth. Atsumu, on the other hand, had no such qualms, and ate like a starved man. By the time he was done, he had mustard and tomato sauce smeared on his upper lip.

Sakusa grimaced, passing him a packet of tissues from his pocket.

Atsumu took it, cringing when the tips of their fingers brushed. _Oh, crap. Is it gonna blow his top or somethin'?_ But he didn't. Sakusa acted like he hadn't noticed at all, which was more than fine in Atsumu's book.

"Keep it," Sakusa said, shortly. "I have more."

"If ya say so, Omi. Thanks for the meal, by the way."

"You're welcome—it's never happening again."

Atsumu shrugged. "Fine by me." To be honest, he was just happy that he had somehow gotten Sakusa to agree once. Just once was enough. "Hey, Omi..."

"Hm?"

He folded up the tissue. "Since ya wanna get into contact with Karasuda and all... Does that mean you're gonna be moseyin' yer way into the case?"

"Not officially," Sakusa answered. "Karasuda's not known to be nice, anyway. He's prideful and sticks to conservative beliefs on process of justice. I'm not sure if he'll even allow me to meet with him to begin with, but I'm hoping Aoyagi-san can talk him into it. If he can, I'll simply be sharing information and assisting on building up the case against Shō and Hirakawa. Ideally, I want to at least be involved with the questioning, even if it's only to watch."

"What's there to watch?" Atsumu asked, a moue on his face. "The bastard confessed, didn't he? Seems pretty open-and-shut to me." All that was left was to throw Shō into prison where he would, hopefully, rot for the rest of his life.

Sakusa didn't answer straight away, as if mulling over something. They walked languidly under the zelkova trees, enjoying the spring breeze. At last, he said, "Chinen told me that we're still waiting for a response from the court about the legitimacy of his confession. Under Article 38 of the Constitution of Japan, a forced confession isn't allowed to be used as evidence."

Outraged, Atsumu cried, "It wasn't forced! It's not like anybody held a gun to his... head... Ah." He exhaled sharply. "Shit. That's the loophole, isn't it?"

"The confession was retrieved under duress," Sakusa explained. "Or so he says, according to Chinen. I have no doubt his lawyer team have pushed as much as possible to get the evidence rejected."

"That's _bullshit_."

"I know. But it's the way the law works in this country." His eyes softened. "I know it's not fair, and it never will be. But it's all we've got, and we need to work according to it."

"Can'tcha do somethin' about it?" Atsumu implored. "You're a prosecutor, right? Go write a letter demanding change in the system."

"It's not that simple."

"You're just giving up, then? No fight, no nothin'?"

"For this case?" Sakusa clicked his tongue. "It'll be over before any major changes in the system can possibly be put into place. But I..." He looked Atsumu in the eye. "I'll see what I can do."

It would have to do, Atsumu supposed. "Good." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Now—where to, next?"

The answer turned out to be grocery shopping, much to Atsumu's dismay.

* * *

**May 16th, 2018**

His parents came the day before he was going to be discharged. Kindaichi wished they would have picked a better time to finally see their only son, for it was the same day where everyone—and he meant _everyone_ —had also decided to visit him.

His regular visitors all filed in two-by-two from eleven o'clock onward. The first pair to arrive were Kuroo and Kunimi, the former with a bulky, expensive watch strapped around his wrist.

"You like?" was the first thing Kuroo asked him, showing him his flashy new watch. No 'hello' or 'how are you' or 'how are you feeling'. Kindaichi was glad for that. Kuroo didn't seem to be like the type for textbook bullshit like that, anyway. "Bought it for myself to celebrate."

"Really?" Kindaichi grinned. "What's the occasion, Kuroo-san?" The last time they had met, tension had permeated the air between the three of them, but now all of that was gone.

"What else?" crowed Kuroo. "I got the job. _You're_ looking at the new junior executive of the JVA's Sports Promotion Division."

"He wouldn't shut up the whole morning," Kunimi added, shooting Kuroo a dirty look.

"Hey! This is my dream job, my guy. I'm allowed to gloat a little." Kuroo turned back to Kindaichi. "Hey, man, in all seriousness... I'm glad you're okay."

Kindaichi smiled. "Thanks."

For a while, Kunimi and Kindaichi spoke of the former's new shared dorm with Kuroo, the latter isolating himself in a corner and texting someone on his phone. He understood it was time for Kunimi and Kindaichi to catch up and was content with having a digital conversation with someone else.

"You what?" Kindaichi almost choked when he heard of Kunimi's mini vandalism job.

"It only felt right," retorted Kunimi, crossing his arms.

"What if you get fined?"

"Like they'll ever see it. Besides—what student would want to go through the trouble of reporting it to the school? We're all trying to keep our heads above the water here—we need the energy to continue to not drown."

The next pair to drop by were Kageyama and Shino—a duo Kindaichi had not expected.

"You guys!" Kindaichi exclaimed in delight, Kunimi making way for them to stand by his bedside.

"Hello, Kindaichi-san," Shino greeted, warmly, clutching her purse by her side. "I hope you've been doing well."

"I have, thank you..." Kindaichi trailed off when he noticed that Kunimi and Kageyama were looking warily at one another. _Oh, right. Yeah, shit, I completely forgot._ This must have been the first time in years that Kunimi and Kageyama shared the same space together. "Hey, guys? Everything's cool, y'know." He really needed to live up to his word and lend Kunimi that interrogation CD soon.

"I know," Kunimi said, letting out a little sigh. "It's just... weird. No offence, Kageyama."

Kageyama shrugged. "None taken. I didn't expect to see you either..."

Unhelpfully and loudly, Kuroo asked, "Do I smell drama? Yes, yes it is. Gonna stay out of this one."

"Would you shut up?" Kunimi snapped from across the room. "You are such a _troll_."

Shino did an excellent job in pretending everything else around her and Kindaichi didn't exist. With a soft smile on her face, her hand curled around the railing of the hospital bed. "Kindaichi-san, we finally got word from Sunano's family."

Kindaichi's eyes grew round. "Really? That's great! How is she?" Thank goodness Sunano Rie was alive. The last thing Kindaichi needed was knowing that another person had died, possibly because of his inaction.

"Oh, yes, yes, she's fine. She was actually discharged a few days ago, but we didn't hear from her and her family until this morning. She's very grateful to you for your bravery. Her little sister as well—Mina-chan wants to know your postal address so she can send you a gift. She's quite gifted with sculpting."

"There's really no need—"

Shino chuckled. "She insists. Mina-chan is very grateful—her parents are divorced and her big sister is everything to her."

Kindaichi caved. "Tell her that I'm excited to find out what it is, then."

"Will do. Do you want to exchange numbers? You can text me the address when you're well enough."

"Sure. My number is..."

Not long after Kageyama had gotten settled with Kunimi and Kindaichi, Sakusa and Atsumu came in with Atsumu leading the way. "Hey, Kindaichi! Hm? It's pretty busy in here today."

" _Move_ , Miya," Sakusa's muffled voice could be heard from behind him.

Atsumu did, and Sakusa came into sight. He looked the same as usual—mask strapped around his face and stylish designer clothes. Kindaichi could feel himself going green with envy, but his lips quirked into a sincere smile. "Hey, Sakusa."

"Kindaichi." Sakusa gave him a curt nod. The action had been brisk, but his eyes were gentle. "It's good to see you."

"I'll be right back," Atsumu said, backing away. "It's a little packed in here, and I saw a vending machine on the way here."

"Oh, wait!" Kuroo suddenly scrambled to his feet. "Did they have canned coffee?"

"Um, yeah? I think so."

"I'm coming with you."

Atsumu grinned. "Sure. What's yer name?"

As Kuroo and Atsumu disappeared out the door, exchanging introductions on the way out, Kindaichi's doctor entered with a clipboard in hand. The man stopped at the doorway, perhaps surprised to see that so many people had come to see Kindaichi today, before marching up to Kindaichi's bedside. "Kindaichi-san," he said, kindly. "Your parents are here to see you."

 _My parents?_ Kindaichi was ashamed to say that his heart dropped. This wasn't something he wanted everyone around for. So, a resigned sigh escaping from his lips, he hung his head. "Alright. Hey, everyone? Is it okay if you all come back another time?"

"Of course," Kunimi immediately agreed, Kageyama also nodding.

"I should probably make sure that Miya doesn't make a nuisance of himself, anyway," said Sakusa, which was his way of compliance.

So, slowly, the visitors—and the doctor—shuffled out until the only thing that brought color into Kindaichi's hospital room were the carnations that Shino had placed in the vase two days ago. They had yet to start drooping and losing their petals.

The door creaked open.

Kindaichi's breath caught in his throat. "Mom. Dad." No one else came after them. _I guess Yuuki wasn't able to get a flight back._ His little sister was completing her tertiary education in Harvard. It would've been difficult and time-consuming to return to Japan on such short notice.

His parents had a hassled look about them, as if coming down to the hospital had been a rushed affair. In a way, it made Kindaichi feel a little better. They hadn't forgotten about him—they'd simply had other things to take care of before they were able to come down.

They were a standard-looking couple by anyone's definition. Kindaichi's father was bespectacled with a bushy mustache, gray streaking his otherwise black hair—kept short out of a habit that had been drilled into him during his time in the military. He was tall. Not fat but not slender either. Kindaichi Tadayuki—a paralegal who usually worked six out of seven days a week.

And his mother... Kindaichi regarded her with weary eyes. From her willowy limbs and wiry form to her short and sensible haircut, Kindaichi Hisa was an intimidating woman. She crossed her arms over her flowery blouse, lips pursed, as Tadayuki rushed to his side.

"Son!" he breathed. "You're okay... Thank god. I'm sorry we couldn't be here sooner. Jeju Island was incredibly fickle with its flights."

His parents had been in _Korea_? Kindaichi would've been floored by that fact had he not been in bed. "Uhh, it's okay, dad. I get it. I'm just glad you're here now." His father gave him a tentative hug, taking great care not to jostle his injury.

Tadayuki stepped back, evidently relieved with the way his body sagged. "Thank god," he kept repeating in a mutter, "Thank god..."

"Dear," Hisa abruptly said, not taking her eyes off their son. "Could you go and get me a bottle of water from the vending machine? I'm feeling parched."

Tadayuki glanced between Hisa and Kindaichi.

"It's okay, dad," Kindaichi piped. "Just go. Me and mom will catch up."

"If you're sure..."

Tadayuki vanished out the door, and Hisa approached Kindaichi's bedside with pause that Kindaichi didn't usually associate with his mother. She had always been a symbol of authoritarian power to him—Kindaichi Hisa didn't have _weaknesses_. A ridiculous notion, he thought, but one that wasn't derived from rationality. He had feared her as a child, resented her as a teenager, and now...

Hisa didn't touch him. "Does it hurt?"

"A little," Kindaichi confessed, gulping. "But the doctor says I'll be fine. I can probably get the sling off in two weeks."

"Yuutarou. Why would you put yourself in such a situation?"

He winced at her sharp tone. _There she is_. "Because I had to. Goshiki was my _friend_. I couldn't let him do what he did."

"Look where that got you." Hisa eyed his left shoulder, where, beneath the fabric of his hospital gown, a bullet had been embedded in the flesh mere days ago. "You're hurt and the other boy didn't even make it."

Kindaichi flinched, then growled, "I would have _killed_ myself before I ran away again. Yeah, he didn't make it," his voice cracked, "But at least I tried. At least there's that. If I hadn't gone that day, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. Mom, _please_." _Please, for the first time in your life, don't scold me or berate me or..._

Maybe someone up there heard his silent prayer because Hisa said not a word. The silence dragged for so long that Kindaichi was starting to think that Hisa had gone mute from shock when she finally spoke again. "Yuutarou... I'm proud of you."

His heart leaped to his throat. "You... You are?"

"Yes." Hisa closed her eyes. "I've never been prouder." Leaning over the bedside, she planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'm sorry we couldn't come sooner. But we'll stay with you now, for as long as you need us to."

 _Oh. Oh, no. I think I'm gonna cry._ Kindaichi held back the tears. He'd been crying too much over the past few days. For once, he wanted to keep his face dry. "Mom. I wanna go home. I wanna go back to Sendai. Just... Just for a little while."

"Of course," whispered Hisa. "We can do that. We'll video call Yuuki as well. I'm not sure if she's heard about everything yet."

And, softly, Kindaichi cried as he smiled.

* * *

**May 17th, 2018**

Aoyagi came through.

On the day Kindaichi was to be discharged, Sakusa and Karasuda met up in a cafe nearby the Public Prosecutors Office. It was nearly deserted, the only other people in the cafe the barista, the manager, and the chef.

"Please," Karasuda invited when he saw Sakusa approaching him, the latter wearing his usual suit and tie. "Take a seat, Sakusa-san."

"Thank you." Sakusa swiftly wiped down the chair and table before doing so. It would have been better if he had gotten here first, but it seemed Karasuda didn't want him to have the upper hand in anything. He himself was twenty minutes early—he couldn't imagine how long Karasuda had already been sitting here with his coffee.

"You could have gone through the woman," commented Karasuda, leaning forward with his elbows on his briefcase and steepling his fingers. "I wonder what made you come to me, instead."

"Chinen would've never given me a chance."

"Hah! Very true. She has too much to prove. Shame she's letting her female hysteria get in the way."

Sakusa narrowed his eyes. "I don't blame her. You're right—she does have much to prove, especially as a woman working a 'man's job'. But you should not fault her for that." _Do not fault her for living the only way she can live in a world created to benefit you,_ he didn't say.

Karasuda harrumphed. "What do you want, Sakusa-san?"

"Not much." Sakusa unzipped his bag to pull out the Osamu case files that he had gotten from Daichi those two weeks ago. "Only... We can benefit if we work together."

"You're suspended."

"I'm aware. This isn't going to be on record. In fact, should the case have a positive outcome, all credit will go to you and Chinen— _especially_ you." It was a sad reality that Sakusa wielded against Karasuda's ego—the fact that Chinen's contributions would always be overlooked for Karasuda's. Taking Karasuda's musing silence as a positive sign, he went on, "If I know Daizen, he's going to throw Shō under the bus to save his own skin. However... Considering how Shō has lawyered up considerably—like thanks to _him_ —there's something Shō has over him."

"How do you know this?"

"I spent the better part of my childhood acquainted with that man." Sakusa snorted. "He's a smiling devil." Then he grew solemn again. "You worked the last case. You got Iwaizumi convicted for Oikawa's murder. Now that you have a chance to make things right, you're going to have to make sure you get everything in order."

"Tch! I am your _elder_. Do not talk down to me as if I am some _rookie_. You may have your noteworthy one-hundred percent success rate, but do not forget that I have taken _hundreds_ more cases than you have over the course of my career."

Sakusa relaxed his shoulders, eyes drooping to half-mast. "Of course. I didn't mean to offend. I cannot deny emotional investment into the case, but rest assured that my judgement is not clouded. You've seen my work."

A grunt. "Yes, I have. You are more than impressive, given your age. Tell me, Sakusa-san, what exactly does Shō have against Hirakawa Daizen?"

"I have a strong suspicion. Currently, there is nothing implicating Shō as the killer of Kageyama Miwa and Miya Osamu." He slid the file forward, Karasuda's piercing gaze following the movement. "On it's own, it doesn't seem particularly telling, but..." Here, Sakusa grew grave. "I am ninety-nine percent certain that Daizen has a history of both physical and sexual violence toward women. The death of Kageyama Miwa doesn't match Shō's M.O, and I suspect that Daizen was more than involved in her death and dismemberment. But I can't prove that. No foreign human material was detected during the analysis of Kageyama Miwa's bones."

"Assuming that this is still relevant to the current case, what do you suggest we do?" 'We'. Karasuda had said 'we'. Sakusa's eyes gleamed. He had gained his interest. "Further interrogate Shō and the former Prosecutor-General?"

"I have an idea. But we have to be careful. I want Shō sentenced to the fullest extent of the law, but it wouldn't be right for the Hirakawa family to escape judgement." Karasuda started to flip through the Osamu file, stopping occasionally to sip his coffee. "From what I managed to get out of Chinen these past few days, there was a large fridge found in the basement of Dreaming Poker Heights, where Shō had taken up temporary residence in. Not his usual luxurious style. The landlady confirmed that it belonged to Shō. Am I correct?"

Karasuda nodded, grimly. "Yes. I thought it was strange, why someone like Shō would be living in such a poverty-ridden gathering hole. And the fridge... It was purchased four years ago, along with the apartment."

"It's big enough to keep human remains in," Sakusa said, leaning back in his chair.

"Surely... You're not suggesting...?"

"Shō had the body and the bones. He didn't kill her, but he knows who did. If Shō fesses up, Daizen is going down with him."

"Hence why Daizen is doing his best to protect Shō with his team of lawyers."

"Yes. It's not far-fetched. They have a mutual, a common point of contact—Hirakawa Noriko."

Karasuda considered this. Then, he inquired, "Out of curiosity, Sakusa-san, do you know if Hirakawa Noriko was ever a victim of Hirakawa Daizen's alleged... tendencies?"

Sakusa hesitated. "I don't know," he said, eventually. "I can't be certain, but I'm compelled to lean toward the possibility."

"I see. How awful."

 _Did Midorima know, too?_ Sakusa wondered briefly. _Is that why he always defended her so much?_ And on that train of thought, Sakusa asked, "Do you know what's happening with the Chief Prosecutor?"

But Karasuda did not have any clear answers. "No, I can't say I do. Since the investigation began, he's been consulting with Hirakawa Noriko—" Consultation with lawyers without the presence of government officials was legal "—and coming in and out of the detention centre. Other than that, I am not sure. Aside from that, he seems to be continuing with his job as per usual."

"Hmm..." Sakusa's brow creased. "Has her behavior changed throughout the course of her detainment?"

"She was understandably upset on the first day. She became quieter as the days rolled by... She knows her rights, and hasn't said anything incriminating thus far. Pah," Karasuda spat, " _women_. We should've never put her into power in the first place. Every time the Chief Prosecutor comes in, however, her demeanor does a one-eighty. It's ridiculous, how dependent she is on a man." At this point, Sakusa couldn't quite tell how far Karasuda's biases stretched—they seemed to be all over the place. Did he or did he not believe that a woman should be able to stand independent?

 _But never mind. I can use this._ Sakusa tuned out Karasuda's rant about how women should know their place, knowing it was best to just let him talk himself into exhaustion if they wanted to make any progress. He didn't know the nuances of the marriage between Midorima and Noriko, but... _If her reactions are so obvious, then... Midorima could be the key to everything._ He hadn't shared this with Karasuda yet, but there was another thing he was certain of—Hirakawa Daizen had some sort of _hold_ over Noriko. One that went beyond an abuser and his victim. He had powerful leverage over her, one that he continued to use even after she had gotten married and thus had the possibility to cut off her father forever—he just wasn't sure what it was. _But Hirakawa must know. She's the one being subjected to his violence. And if I can convince Midorima to convince her..._

"Who do you think killed Miya Osamu, then?" Karasuda suddenly asked, breaking Sakusa out of his self-absorption. "Hirakawa Daizen or Shō Shinya?"

"Not Daizen, no," Sakusa replied, recovering quickly. "Highly unlikely. I'm sure we would find an alibi from a simple internet search—Daizen is frequently occupied with expanding his business. Most of the time, he's not even in Japan. But with Shō..." If his confession were to be taken at face value, then Shō had loved Miya Osamu like his own son. _But people like him often exaggerate the extent of their abilities_ — _including the ability to love._ A part of him didn't want it to be true. It would only make Shō even more despicable. Not that he cared for Shō, but the fact that he would kill his own 'son'... A morbid thought wafted to the forefront of his mind. Junji slitting his throat in his sleep. The breaking of an ancient and natural law that ran deep in their human bones. _Filicide_. How could a parent ever think to do that to their child? "Leave it to me. I'll find out the truth."

Karasuda raised one skeptical brow. "Very well, then." He stood up. "I should get going. I'll talk to the woman. We'll be in touch."

"Thank you for your time, Karasuda-san." Sakusa stood as well, bowing his head slightly. "I won't let you down."

"See that you won't."

Sakusa watched Karasuda leave, the old man's shoes squeaking against the glossy, polished floor. Then he took out his phone and punched in a familiar number. "Okazaki. It's me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Plans to defeat the Sho and the Hirakawas are set into motion... But what is the missing piece in the puzzle?
> 
> Article 38 of the Constitution of Japan stipulates, "No person shall be compelled to testify against himself, and confession made under compulsion or after prolonged arrest or detention shall not be admitted in evidence." The Constitution further stipulates, "No person shall be convicted or punished in cases where the only proof against him is his own confession."
> 
> First chapter of 2021! Happy belated New Year, guys!!


	48. Chasm of Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mika and Daishou go on a date, Kindaichi returns to his childhood home, Kunimi talks to Mitsuhara, and Sakusa discovers an impostor... As all this unfolds, people begin to open their eyes.

**May 17th, 2018**

"Ahh...! I'm exhausted..."

Yamaka Mika shoved her head into her arms, stretched across a WacDonald's dining table. Opposite her, her boyfriend—Daishou Suguru—chewed on a soggy fry. Giving her an arch look that she didn't see, he prodded her cheek with one greasy chip. "Heyy, Mika-chan. Do you wanna eat something? Maybe you'll feel less tired. It's not good to walk around on the city on an empty stomach."

Irritably, she batted his hand away, a pout on her lips. "Sorry, Suguru, but I'm not feeling that well."

Instantly, Daishou came to several horrifying conclusions. _Oh, god! Is she sick?! C-cancer?! What if she's pregnant?! Morning sickness?! She's looking a little green! I should've never asked her to go out today! Mika-chan needs some rest! And the baby! What if there's a baby?_ "A-ah, Mika-chan..."

Mika lifted her head, blinking owlishly. "Suguru? What's wrong? You have this constipated expression on your face..."

"I promise I'll look after you and our child! I will work seven days a week to support you!"

"Suguru, are you insane? I'm not _pregnant_."

Daishou visibly sagged, breathing a sigh of relief. "Stomach flu, then? You look kinda nauseous. Do you want me to take you home?"

"I'm fine, Suguru, really." Mika offered him a crooked smile. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Every time I go on my phone, I just get attacked with an endless barrage of news updates."

 _Ah. So this is what it's about..._ Daishou rubbed her head, sympathetic to her plight. _Of course Mika-chan would feel like this, considering she was a first responder on the scene that day_. Though interest had slowed a little in the past few days, the suicide of Goshiki Tsutomu and everything surrounding it—the director's confession to a formally closed case, HNN Foundation's involvement, and the exposure of corruption in the justice system—had been at the forefront of every Japanese citizen's minds. Unease filled him. "Try getting off social media for a few days," he suggested. He wasn't sure if that was very helpful—it wasn't like Mika was being bombarded with questions due to her relative anonymity with the current situation—but it was all he had. "Tell you what—we'll both take some time off and go to Kusatsu Onsen."

"I can't do that," Mika groaned, regretfully. "I'm in the middle of doing my transfer applications, not to mention I have to undergo formal nurse training." Guilty she looked away. "We already missed our anniversary dinner because of me... I complained so much about you not having time for me back in high school, but now I'm just doing the same thing..."

"Hey, hey." Daishou leaned over the table gripped her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. "This is totally different, m'kay, Mika-chan? You're out here saving lives and helping others. I was just a volleyball-obsessed freak. We can always have dinner another time—in fact, I've saved up enough for a fancy meal at Tokyo Tower."

Mika laughed as their foreheads bumped. "I guess. Thanks, Suguru. If it's not too much, will you come shopping with me? We can get some bubble tea, too."

"Of course!"

Mika excused herself to the bathroom, then, and Daishou finished the rest of his fries before wiping his fingers off and grabbing his phone from his pocket. True to Mika's word, Japan was still fussing over what Daishou had now dubbed the _Rooftop Incident_. Not very creative of him, but it got the message across. _Wow, she wasn't kidding,_ Daishou thought, awed by the amount of attention that the incident was still receiving from the media. It'd already been nearly two weeks since Goshiki had plunged off the building. Daishou didn't normally spend a lot of time browsing the news, and it was a shock to him. _Poor Mika-chan must feel awful seeing this every day... I should do something special for her. I'll buy her the most expensive dish at Tokyo Tower!_

He paused in his scrolling, taking in the names of those mentioned in a particular article.

_Kindaichi Yuutarou, the newest hero of Japan... Huh... I wonder how he's doing now?_

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Kindaichi felt like a child again. Exhausted and more than a little miserable, Kindaichi sat in the back seat of his parents' car. Tadayuki was driving in accordance to the GPS navigator while Hisa had fallen asleep in the front passenger seat. Kindaichi, too, was close to nodding off, but the golden afternoon was making it difficult.

Only a month ago, he and his roommates had been driving down the same road, headed back to Sendai for a brief vacation—some time back home without the hustle and bustle of the big city. It hadn't been long since then, but the nostalgia gnawed away at his bones, leaving a deep ache in him. So much had happened since then.

Eventually, he did manage to fall into slumber, and only woke up when he felt the familiar turns that led back to his childhood home.

"We're here," Tadayuki declared, pulling into the driveway.

Moaning softly, Kindaichi cracked open his eyes, mouth dry and throat parched. _We're home?_ He blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, before taking in the sight of his home through the windscreen. Even after all these years, it still looked exactly the same. Middle-class. Suburban. Nicely clipped lawn with some traditional Buddhist decorations. Their front yard was bigger than their backyard.

"Time to get up," added Hisa, thinking that her son was still asleep. She fixed her hair in the visor mirror before getting out.

Hisa went straight into the house, fumbling with her keys, while Tadayuki offered to help Kindaichi take his luggage out of the boot. Kindaichi declined—he had only packed one suitcase and he wouldn't be staying long anyway. There was no way he would allow Kunimi—who was still back in Tokyo and busting his ass on his latest thesis—to spend the May Festival, which would be held two days from now, by himself.

He ended up taking up his father's offer anyway, when he remembered his left arm was in a sling.

Kindaichi opened the door to his bedroom. The first thing he observed was the yellow sunlight hitting the carpeted floor, curtains drawn. His bed had a fine layer of dust on it, which he brushed off before climbing onto the mattress. Suddenly, he was fifteen again, and hunched over at his desk—also layered with dust—and studying like his life depended on it. He blinked. He was still on the bed. Sighing, he flopped down on his back, staring blandly at the ceiling.

 _I'm home._ The thought was comforting, but it also made his heart twist. _Home..._

He didn't know how long he spent up in his room, but when he checked his phone, it was already past five o'clock in the evening. Outside, however, it was still bright and lovely. The coming summer meant longer days and shorter nights. Kindaichi sniffed. His mother was putting on soup.

With a grunt, he sat up and padded down the hall. The walls were scuffed—scuffed from sibling fights with Yuuki, who had had a bad habit of purposefully misplacing his things.

 _To think,_ he smiled to himself, _That that brat somehow got herself accepted into Harvard..._ Of course his sister would study abroad at the first opportunity. She had always been like that—curious, worldly, and looking to expand her horizons. Never anchored to a place or time or sentiment... Kindaichi envied her, in that sense. No matter how glum his past had been, he would always catch himself looking back with dangerously fond lenses.

Even now, Kindaichi couldn't escape it.

"Mom," he ducked into the kitchen briefly, "I'm going out for a walk."

"Be back by six-thirty," she replied, sternly.

"I will."

Kindaichi grabbed all he needed—keys, wallet—and slipped on his shoes before heading out. A sudden wind slapped him in the face as soon as he stepped out to the porch, sending the hem of his plaid over-shirt flapping back. But it soon died down to a gentle breeze, and Kindaichi made his way down the driveway and the street.

He had no destination, no particular place to be, but the fresh air was much needed after being confined to the hospital for so long. His arm wasn't hurting anymore—if it was, the pain was too faint for him to notice.

Although he hadn't set foot in it for years, the neighborhood was hauntingly familiar. He still knew every crack in the pavement, every dent in every stop sign. So perhaps it was only inevitable that he would end up _there_.

Kindaichi regarded Aobajosai High with world-weary eyes. There were still a few students milling about in the courtyard, students allowed to stay at school until six o'clock. He checked his phone. That was fifteen minutes from now. The students disappeared from his line of sight, and Kindaichi found himself noticing something else instead. Namely, a collection of flowers and presents at the front gate. Curiosity getting the better of him, he approached the colorful pile of trinkets. Were they for Oikawa? Six years later, they were still leaving gifts for his departed soul? It was sweet, bitterly so.

He was right—but he was also wrong.

Kindaichi sucked in a breath, air hissing around his teeth.

They were for Oikawa. But...

Iwaizumi's name had been written several times on cards and scraps of paper. Not the disparaging, degrading messages his family had found spray-painted on the side of their house every other week before moving to Akita, but...

Tears sprung to his eyes, and Kindaichi wasn't the least bit ashamed of them.

**We are sorry, Iwaizumi Hajime**

**Forgive us, Iwaizumi-san**

**We were wrong**

**Justice for Oikawa and Iwaizumi**

**We will fight for you now, Iwaizumi**

**We will fight for your freedom**

They were signed by vaguely familiar names. And Kindaichi realized—these hadn't been left by the current students of Aobajosai. No, they'd been dropped off by _alumni_. The students who had been around back in 2012 and 2013 to righteously condemn Iwaizumi for Oikawa's murder. Who had mourned the death of the most beloved boy in school, who had frothed at the mouth for punishment to be meted.

He wasn't quite sure why he was so affected. But it moved something in him, struck a _chord_ in him—after six years of misguided hatred, those who had been helpless to watch on were finally admitting how wrong they had been. How they would now strive to amend the situation as best as they could.

 _We're on your side now,_ they were saying, and Kindaichi nearly choked. Maybe, if he were more resentful, he would speak bitterly of their hypocrisy and their change of allegiance, but _it felt so good_. At last, people were beginning to open up their eyes. This was _proof_.

It was proof that his efforts hadn't been for nothing.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Behind him, the sun began its descent.

Lighter than before, Kindaichi went home.

* * *

Although the sky was clear in Sendai, it was a different story in Tokyo. There was a light drizzle today, and Kunimi was working on his dissertation paper at his desk in the counselling centre, Mitsuhara Otome peering over his shoulder occasionally.

She was not an unwelcome presence. Though naturally extroverted, Otome knew when to keep to herself. Her glances were not distracting in the least.

 _But she wants something from me today,_ Kunimi surmised, editing a clunky paragraph. _She'll break soon. Three... two... one..._ Nothing. Kunimi counted down again. _Three, two_ —

"Hey, Kunimi-kun?"

 _And there it is._ Kunimi glanced up from his laptop. "What is it, Mitsuhara-san?"

"You're in your first year of graduate school..."

"Mmhm."

"So I was wondering... What are you specializing in?" Otome laughed sheepishly from her desk, which had a plastic plaque on it that read _T.A. Mitsuhara_. "I realized I never asked you. Based on my impression on you, though, I'm guessing clinical psychology?"

"Ah." Kunimi had suspected for a while that she would ask him this. Otome respected boundaries, but she was a curious woman. "There aren't many labs for it, but I'm specializing in counselling psychology."

Otome straightened in her chair. "Wait, really? That's awesome, Kunimi-kun! I thought for sure you would be going into clinical."

"Is that what you want to do?" Kunimi asked, casually. "Clinical psychology."

"Actually, I'm looking more into social psychology. I've always been interested in how people interact with one another. But," Otome rest her chin one palm, "What makes you want to do counselling? Not that it's a bad thing," she swiftly tacked on, "Nakamura-sensei is also a counselling psychologist, after all."

Kunimi's eyelids drooped, and he copied her position. One hand reached for the open bag of caramel candies he kept beside his laptop. It was a bit of a personal question, but it wouldn't hurt for him to answer. "It's kind of complicated," he answered. "But to sum it up... There's someone I care about a lot. Someone I want to help. He's been through a lot, and there was this huge, life-changing event for him... I want to help him heal his mind. And maybe... Even find things out about myself on the way. So... Hey, what the hell? Mitsuhara-san, are you _crying_?"

Otome sniffled, her eyes suspiciously damp. "No!" she denied, lifting her round glasses to brush away her tears. "Why would I? In all honesty, though, that's... That's really sweet. I wish I had a friend like that. You're one of a kind, Kunimi-kun. Whoever this friend is, he's very lucky to have you."

" _I'm_ lucky to have _him_." Kunimi chuckled. "He can be a huge pain-in-the-ass, but..."

"He's _your_ pain-in-the-ass?"

"Exactly."

Otome left him alone after that, for which he was grateful for.

 _My pain-in-the-ass, hm?_ Kunimi thought, idly, as he worked. There was a small smile playing on his lips. _Yeah. That sounds about right._

Outside, the skies cleared up.

* * *

**May 18th, 2018**

Truth be told, although it was quite the opposite of what she was, Okazaki Hana often felt like she was a secret agent of sorts. This was especially true when she was doing a job for Sakusa, whether it was collecting and organizing information on a case or cleaning his office.

So when Sakusa had called her yesterday, requiring her services, she had stayed up until one o'clock in the morning fulfilling her duties. This morning, she had gotten up bright and early and now stood outside her dingbat residence, waiting eagerly for Sakusa to arrive.

She didn't have to wait long—Sakusa was always on time, and today was no exception.

As his car rolled up to her, he drew down the window. He was wearing his polarizing sunglasses. "I didn't make you wait, did I?"

"Not at all!" chirped Okazaki. It was like going on a date, but more exhilarating. Not that she would ever date Sakusa. Not only was he gay, but he also wasn't her type. _Inspector Sawamura on the other hand..._

Sakusa tilted his shades down, brows raised. "Are you thinking of something lewd?"

"What?! No, of course not!" Blushing, Okazaki went around the front of the car and got into the passenger seat. The first thing she did as Sakusa did a three-point turn to exit the dingbat courtyard was take out her compact mirror from her purse. Her makeup looked fine, but she had done her hair a little hastily this morning. Luckily, there didn't seem to be a hair visibly out of place. She had dressed up a little more than usual today, wearing a form-fitting black blouse and a pencil skirt. Her hair was styled in a low bun, her side fringe curling around the left side of her face.

"What did you find?" Sakusa asked her.

"Enough," Okazaki said, smiling. "The owner of the building is named Itabashi Emon. He's forty-eight years old and he inherited the building from his father. Prior to his death, Osamu had been a tenant with him for three years. He's also married with no children."

"What's his wife's name?"

"Kuroo Rina." Okazaki frowned. "I couldn't find any pictures of her, though. It seems she really likes her privacy. I dug a little into her family. Parents are divorced—her mother got custody of her and her father got custody of her brother. Not much on her mother, but her father is a lawyer. Kuroo Musashi. Her younger brother's name is Kuroo Tetsurou, and he teaches chemistry courses part-time at the University of Tokyo. Neither of them are particularly noteworthy or suspicious."

"That's fine. I just need to ask Itabashi-san a few questions. You did request to set up a meeting, right?"

"Of course, sir. He was very open to being questioned. It doesn't sound like he has anything to hide..."

"Guess we'll just have to find out."

The rest of the drive went smoothly, and they found themselves outside the home of Itabashi Emon. Okazaki rang the doorbell, and a short, portly man greeted them.

"You must be Prosecutor Sakusa and his assistant," Itabashi said, warmly. "Please—come in. I've boiled some tea for us!"

"Thank you," Sakusa replied, coolly polite. "We won't take up much of your time."

They sat down on Itabashi's couch (Sakusa reluctantly so) and Itabashi brought them their tea on a tray before taking a seat in his armchair. "So," said Itabashi, intertwining his fingers on his lap, "What would you like to ask me about, sir?" Now that Okazaki got a better look at him, she could deduce that he had probably used a whole tin of hair wax today. She giggled quietly. He seemed like a very silly man to her—an upper-middle class boy who had never had to work a day in his life; a man who had inherited his fortune and success from his sire.

"It's about Miya Osamu," Sakusa started. "One of your tenants. He passed away recently."

"Ah, yes! Such a shame that was. He was too young." Itabashi shook his head sadly. "Too young..."

"Yes, well. I wanted to ask: How many key cards to his room have you distributed?"

"Why, just the one," claimed Itabashi. "Well, that and a spare. I remember—he'd lost his, you see. I had to go through the trouble of ordering a new one for him. What a great fuss that caused with the card-making company..."

"And the original was never recovered?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"May I get a copy of your records, please?"

"What for?"

"So I can have physical proof that you're not lying to me," Sakusa said, bluntly.

"Please," Okazaki emphasized, knowing just how abrasive Sakusa could appear to others.

Itabashi was quite upset at being disbelieved, but got up and ambled to his office anyway. He was even more upset when Sakusa and Okazaki followed him inside to make sure he didn't do anything like tamper with the records.

"Here," Itabashi gruffly held out the records after spending five minutes searching through his files, "All of my transactions with the card-making company from the beginning of March to the end."

Sakusa snapped on a pair of disposable gloves, ignoring Itabashi's offended spluttering. Taking them from the landlord, he began to skim it, eyes darting across the paper.

Okazaki peeked around his shoulder. "See anything, sir?"

"... It all checks out."

"I _told_ you," huffed Itabashi, placing his hands on his hips indignantly. "I am an honest man. I would never violate a tenant's privacy by producing another card for someone else!"

"My apologies." Sakusa didn't sound at all sorry. "It appears you were telling the truth after all. I have only one more question for you: Is the name Shō Shinya familiar to you?"

"Why, of course! He's been all over the news—"

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Was Osamu's apartment under his name or Shō Shinya's?"

"... Let me check."

Another five minutes later, Itabashi was closing his drawer with a troubled expression on his mien. "Shō Shinya's," he confirmed. "It was under Shō Shinya's name. Yes, of course... Miya Osamu-san was only a minor when he first started living here, under the age of twenty. Shō-san signed the lease as his legal guardian."

"Is it possible that Shō would have had access to Osamu's key card?"

"If he did," Itabashi said, reluctantly. "Then I don't have anything to do with it. I gave the card to Miya Osamu-san, not Shō-san. If Miya Osamu-san let Shō-san have it... Then I'm afraid I don't have anything to do with it. Once I give out the card, whatever happens to it is out of my hands. Literally."

There was a crease in Sakusa's brows, and Okazaki could guess what he was thinking easily enough. Osamu had been sleeping in his room when he died, meaning that he had had his key card with him. The original one was missing in action, so the killer would have had to use that one... But that meant Shō would have had to pickpocket Osamu somehow. A very important item like the only key card to his room... Would Osamu really have been so careless with it? Or had Osamu trusted Shō enough to leave the card unattended when he was around? And could Shō have gotten the key card copied somehow?

Unless it wasn't Shō. But, then—

Something hit Okazaki.

"Thank you for your time," Sakusa sighed, prepared to accept that this was mostly a dead lead. "You've been very helpful today, Itabashi-san."

"Wait," Okazaki interjected, both men turning to her. "I also have a question for you, Itabashi-san."

"Oh?" Itabashi was taken aback. "And what's that?"

"Where's your wife?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Okazaki shivered, wondering if she had hit a nerve. But she was just curious about this one thing—was it possible Kuroo Rina could have duplicated the card? She did have access to all of Itabashi's things.

"My wife..." Itabashi heaved a great sigh. "She's much, much younger than me—thirty-one years old—and a bit of a free spirit. She's a freelance actress but she's currently busy fulfilling a very long contract, so I don't get to see her a lot."

"A contract?" echoed Sakusa. "With who? An agency?"

"What was it again?" Itabashi scratched his cheek. "I'm getting old... Ah, yes! I remember. The company was called _Future Match_. They specialize in romantic dramas, I think? I'm not sure."

"Quickly," commanded Sakusa, turning to Okazaki, "Look that up."

"On it, sir." Hastily, Okazaki did a search, scrolling through Mikipedia until she struck gold. "Aha! It's a subsidiary of HNN Foundation. They've got their claws everywhere." _So much so that this could all just be a coincidence. But we have to make sure it isn't. Hmm..._ "Isn't it strange? That Kuroo Rina hasn't debuted? She's thirty-one—that's super old in the entertainment industry. Nobody would debut an actress that old—they all want teenage starlets nowadays."

"She's not _old_ ," mumbled Itabashi. "You're around the same age as her, aren't you, Okazaki-san?"

Okazaki cleared her throat loudly. "You digress, Itabashi-san. It's _also_ unusual that Rina-chan hasn't featured in any romantic dramas in the past ten years." They stared at her. "What? I'm a sucker for any romance."

"Of course you are," muttered Sakusa. "Can you confirm that on the internet?"

Okazaki did with just a few taps with her thumb. "Absolutely nothing connecting that name with any movie or episodic drama."

Itabashi was shaking his head. "You lot are too suspicious. You can just ask her yourselves—today is one of the few days she even comes home. My wife is my wife. There's nothing odd or unnatural about her. You'll see for yourselves, when she—" his eyes widened when he heard a faint knock from the front door "—She's back!"

"Great timing," remarked Okazaki, she and Sakusa following Itabashi out of his study room.

"Honey!" Itabashi threw out his arms after opening the door for her. "You're home!"

"Yep!" a girlish voice giggled before Okazaki saw a slender, long-legged goddess of a woman launch herself at Itabashi. "I missed you, Emon-cutie."

"Oh, fucking hell," Sakusa swore under his breath, looking mildly repulsed by the interaction.

Okazaki hid her mouth with one hand as she tittered. "You'll be eating those words soon when you snuggle up with your own honey-bunny."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"I'm talking about your blond boytoy."

Sakusa choked on his spit. "My—?!"

"Oh, we have guests!" exclaimed Kuroo Rina, side-stepping Itabashi and approaching them. She bowed to them politely. "How do you do?"

As Okazaki and Sakusa bowed back, the former realized that Rina was not dressed as she thought she would be based on her voice. She had been expecting a sexy, sultry femme fatale, not... A stylish businesswoman with respectable and appropriate black hair and side-swept bangs. Because that was what Rina looked exactly like in her feminine, classy pantsuit. Her surprise must have been evident on her face, because Sakusa shot her a questioning look.

"Ah, dearie," Itabashi said, catching up to them. "These nice people have something to ask you."

Rina blinked, innocent as a lamb. "Sure! What is it?"

"I'll keep things as short as possible," Sakusa said, staring intensely at Rina for some reason. "Rina-chan—do you have access to all of your husbands things? Including his business records?"

"Hm? Oh, yep. Sometimes we even do our finances together."

"Right. And have you ever handled transactions and clients?"

"Yep."

"Did you give Shō Shinya a key card?"

Rina thumbed her lip. "That name... Oh, yes. Yes, I see now. I did, actually."

"What?!" cried Itabashi and Okazaki.

"I'm sorry, dear," she apologized to her crestfallen husband, "But I had to."

"What do you mean you _had_ to?" demanded Sakusa. Okazaki knew why he was displeased. Kuroo Rina's actions had gotten Osamu _killed_.

Rina shifted, uncomfortable. "It's part of my contract. If I didn't, he would've..." She glanced at the ceiling momentarily, humming in thought. "Well, it's not illegal for me to talk about it, so why not? I'm an actress. And I've been playing the same character for... Ten years now?" She shrugged. "More or less."

 _What? Ten years as the same character? I don't understand..._ Okazaki watched as Sakusa scrutinized her, unable to pinpoint his thought process this time. _Does he know her somehow?_

His eyes widened. "No," Sakusa abruptly blurted, backing away from Rina. "This can't be... You... You're..."

"Oh!" Rina lit up, pointing at Sakusa and totally oblivious to the dawning horror on his face. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere! You're the little Sakusa boy! You've sure grown up fine!"

Okazaki waited for Sakusa to have some sort of smart, witty reply to her silly statement, but there was none. He was stunned. Stunned into silence. At last, he uttered only a single word—a _name_.

_"Hirakawa Shion."_

* * *

_In light of these revelations, is it really fair for us to hand out premature judgement on a man who has nobly built his career upon the ashes of loss and tragedy?_

By **SARUTA KAITO**

**COMMENTS (782):**

**Shina9814  
** WTF STOP TRYING TO DISTRACT US WITH LIES! WE WON'T FALL FOR IT!

 **kawaiicookie29  
** I did some research on this company, Media Star World. It was recently bought by HNN Foundation CEO HIRAKAWA DAIZEN! He tried to cover it up through name changes and reshuffling employees, but we know the truth! Just search it up!

 **Bokuto Koutarou  
** Not cool! You shuldnt try to blame the victim like this! He was a respected volleyball player get it right!

 **Furui Yumiko  
** My condolences to his family, they do not deserve to see trash like this...

 **Mrs. Esashi  
** Take this down. This is absolutely disgusting. I have two children around the same age as Oikawa Tooru. No matter how much they misbehave or rebel, this NEVER justifies MURDER. This is SLANDER. Absolutely DISGUSTING. It seems the pigs are Media Star World have nothing better to do than to blame victims who can't defend themselves. But we are here. We will be his voice. **  
**

 **Debbie Kent  
** I would like to speak to your manager.

 **flowergirl18  
** What the hell? I went to the same high school as Oikawa Tooru and he was NOT like this. My best friend actually dated him and he was the sweetest to her. He had the best grades in the year and all the teachers liked him. This is actually total bullshit.

 **Hamada Yoshino  
** Don't you dare speak of loss and tragedy like you understand. This is the worst take on the situation ever!

 **Oishi Ryoka**  
If justice cannot be dealt out through organic means, then we will demand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Will say it now. Kuroo and his sister ARE estranged. Kuroo was very young when his parents got divorced, and he rarely saw his sister as a result of this and the considerable age gap between them.


	49. The Masked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was time to say goodbye to him.

_"Look at me! Look at me! The monster inside me has grown this large."_

**_—_ _Obluda, The Nameless Monster_ **

* * *

**May 18th, 2018**

The camera shook as he adjusted it, screen blackening momentarily. _"Gah... Stay still, will you? Damn thing..."_

Chinen was alone in her office today. The boys—Numbers One, Two, and Three—had gone out to run errands. With her, she had her trusty notepad and pen, the end of the latter object ridden with teeth marks. She pressed the space button on her laptop, and the video paused. Her third time reviewing the footage gleaned from Goshiki Tsutomu's laptop—seized during Karasuda's raid of the dead boy's dormitory—and it never got easier. Her notepad had already been filled, from when she had picked out certain sections that would be useful during the upcoming trial.

Maybe it was time to view it not as an impersonal piece of evidence, but rather what it really was—the unearthing of a young man's feelings.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Chinen resumed the video.

 _"Oh, there we go."_ The hand retreated from the camera, and Goshiki—and the backdrop which was obviously a hospital bed—came into view as he leaned back. _"Shit, uh... This is a little awkward. Mom said it might be good for me, but... I don't really know what to say. What am I supposed to say?"_ Goshiki blinked, lifting one arm up and examining it. The skin was blotchy. Bruises. _"I'm alive."_

Her fingers tapped on the paper.

 _"They said it was a hit-and-run. That I'm lucky to even be alive right now... But... I don't feel very lucky."_ He began to cry, face screwing up so tightly and terribly that Chinen started chewing on her pen again. _"W-why? Why did it have to be me? Couldn't it happen to someone else, instead? I was supposed to... to... This wasn't supposed to happen. My leg's gone. It's just... It's fucking gone. Oh my god, my leg is gone. There's nothing there. But... I can still feel it sometimes. Is this all a dream, then? I'll check the video tomorrow. If it's still here... Then I'll know that this is my new reality."_

There was an awkward cut as the next diary entry played. One of her boys had compiled all the separate recording files into one big one for easier access. Again, it started off with Goshiki trying to get his webcam to focus.

 _"It's real,"_ was all he said, before it cut to the next entry. Evidently, some time had passed, as his cheeks had gotten more filled out and his eyes were not as sunken as the first two entries. _"It's been a while. Coach came by to see me today. His wife cooked me some boiled flounder. I couldn't finish it, though. Weird, right? I asked him if I could play on the team again, but he didn't answer."_ Goshiki tried to smile, but it came out as more of a bland sneer instead. Something hideous and inhuman. _"He says he'll come back tomorrow. I'll ask him again."_

Cut.

_"He said no. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Fuck! Why did he say no? Is it because of my leg? I can just get a prosthetic, right? Volleyball—it—it's my everything. I can't give up. I'll keep fighting! I'll keep fighting!"_

Cut.

 _"Shirabu-senpai came by today. I like Shirabu-senpai, even though he doesn't like me. Because once I prove myself, I know he will. Ahaha... That look on his face, though... It kind of scared me..."_ Goshiki twirled a strand of his hair, which had grown long enough for him to do so. _"He also said no... But... It doesn't matter, right...? I'll finish school, and I'll find..."_

Cut.

_"I don't know why I'm still doing this. It doesn't feel like it's helped at all. But that's all I know how to do now. Speak to someone who isn't there. Maybe things will get better once I go back to school. I'm getting my new leg fitted tomorrow. Mom and dad can't afford a very good one, but it's okay."_

Cut.

 _"Walking hurts a lot... It's torture... A nurse comes in every day to massage my... What's left of my leg. What should I call it? The stump?"_ He shivered. _"That sounds horrible. I don't think I'll call it anything at all, then."_

Cut.

 _"First day of school today!"_ The background had changed—from the hospital to what had to be Goshiki's bedroom. From the pale sunlight hitting the side of his face, Chinen could tell that it was early morning. _"Well, not really. I have a lot of catching up to do, but I'm sure I'll be able to do okay."_ In the video, Goshiki held up his phone, frowning at the contents of the screen. _"Is it exam time already? None of my friends have been texting me back. Are they all studying? I'll ask them today. Until then!"_ More cheerful than Chinen had ever seen him, he saluted the camera before the screen went black.

Goshiki reappeared a split second later, staring at something that didn't exist. He said nothing, and that was the end of that entry.

Chinen bit down especially hard on her pen, dread coiling in her stomach.

The next time he appeared, there was a bruise forming on his cheek. _"I don't understand,"_ Goshiki said, hoarsely, eyes still faraway. _"I tried asking Kawanishi-senpai, but only got mad. Not at me, but at the other kids. They... They said it was my fault we lost."_ Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he covered his eyes with his hands. _"It's true, isn't it? Who else could have fucked it up but me? I'm the rookie. The first year. The weak link."_ He lifted his head, eyes still retaining that blank, distant quality—the one that sent shivers down Chinen's spine. _"I wish they'd use a different pen. It's hard to scrub it off."_

It cut away again. _"Shirabu-senpai doesn't talk to me anymore. I've tried approaching him a few times, but I can never get close. I don't want to try too hard, in case he gets annoyed... That's one of my worst qualities, y'know? Being a 'try-hard'. That's what they said. Kawanishi-senpai says that it's not, but I don't know if I believe him. Tell me—would you believe a single voice or a dozen voices? I kind of miss Shirabu-senpai, actually. Although he was mean, he wasn't... mean-mean. Oh—he's the new captain of the volleyball team. Maybe that's why he's been so busy lately. Yeah. Yeah."_ There was a long pause, one that would have surprised Chinen had she not seen the entire thing before. She knew what he would say next—mouthed them as he spoke: _"I went up to the roof today. I even took off my shoes. The ground seemed so far away. I thought I was gonna do it. I really, really thought I was gonna do it. But... I didn't. Because... I got scared."_

In a few seconds, he would cry again. For someone who had gone through what he had, Goshiki didn't cry a lot. At least, not on screen.

Goshiki sobbed. It was loud and disgusting and grotesque. There was nothing to alleviate the reprehensible sight and sound of him sniffling and fighting back tears—no dramatic, melancholy music as there tended to be in films. Nothing but the whir of his fan in the background somewhere. He was alone.

 _"I'm a coward,"_ he babbled, tearfully. _"I'm a coward, I'm such a fucking coward and everyone hates me why do they hate me why Ididn'taskfor—"_

Chinen sighed, fast-forwarding. There needed to be a certain amount of detachment involved, or else she would find herself trying to save a boy who had already died more than once.

 _"I wish they'd stop looking at me like that."_ Goshiki's voice was deeper, rougher, but the screen was dark. Then his hand moved from the camera, and a handsome young man greeted her. He was in his third year of high school now. _"It's already been, what, two years? Haven't they gotten used to it by now?"_ There was something... monstrous about him. He'd certainly grown up fine in those two years, and there was even an adroit curl in his lip that implied a stifled smile, but...

 _Paper thin,_ thought Chinen. _A false layer. This isn't Goshiki. This isn't who he really is. This is just what he's learned to be._ What lay underneath was the question. If she peeled back that false layer, what would she find? And if it was more falsities and artificiality, when she got to the root of him, _what would she find_? A lost boy unable to find his place in the world, or something more sinister? _Do not forget,_ she reminded herself, grimly. _That this man was capable of holding and hurting innocents. What had been inflicted on him in the past will never, ever justify that._

 _"Ah,_ " Goshiki continued, _"I guess it can't be helped. I've taken up a new hobby since I last checked up on this... thing of mine. Whatever this is. 'Diary' sounds too girly, doesn't it? Haha. Did you know that cooking can be surprisingly relaxing? I'm trying out a few simple recipes for now. Mom's happy."_ The mask fractured—just a little, not enough for Chinen to glimpse who or what lurked beneath the porcelain. _"I'm glad she is."_

Another skip.

_"There's a nosy bastard sharing my dorm with me. He knows my secret. Shit. I'll kill him... I'll kill him... No. No, I can't do that. But he doesn't know that. God, how could I have gotten so careless? People shouldn't know this about me. If they do... I'm not sure what part of me they'll find. I... I think I'm scared. But of what? Myself? I'm being ridiculous... I need to cut back on the alcohol... I shouldn't drink this much. Note: Drink in moderation, Tsutomu."_

The coming section was where Chinen had penned the majority of her notes from. Her heart raced as she waited for it to come the way a storm-chaser would await an approaching tornado.

 _"I found him."_ Goshiki grinned widely into the camera, and Chinen thought this was the him that looked the most terrible of all. _"God, what are the fucking odds? Hah..."_ He threw back his head and laughed. " _Hahaha! Haha! Oh my god! It's him! It's him. I know it is. Even the car is the same. The same face, surrounded by the sun... How can I just sit here and let him go? Let him go like he hasn't ruined my fucking life?!"_ The monster came tearing out, clawing and screaming. _"I'll kill him. I swear I will. I'll kill him, and then maybe I'll kill myself. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Am I that insignificant to him? I can't be, right? Right? You think I want to be here, fussing over majors and cooking? Cooking? Are you fucking kidding me? If my life is really so small—"_ and the monster so large _"—then that means it doesn't matter what I do, right? But whatever happens... He needs to know. He needs to know what he's done to me."_

The last and final clip was probably the most unique. It started off normal, with Goshiki holding papers in his hand. _"So this is the extent of what Kindaichi's been up to,"_ he was saying, a curious tilt to his mouth. _"If I'd found this before, it might have been useful. But I'm almost done. I'm almost done. Maybe I'll—fuck."_ There was a wild scramble, then, as Goshiki—off-screen—hastily tried to put back everything the way it was. _"Shit, I need to hide..."_ Goshiki blurred past the camera, and then the creak of a door sounded. He was hiding in the bathroom, probably.

 _"What the hell?"_ cried a disembodied voice that was not Goshiki's. Footfall, then Kindaichi appeared, briefly, before disappearing once more.

The bathroom door opened. Keeping his footsteps as silent as possible, Goshiki approached Kindaichi with a _shotgun_.

 _"You know, I've had it up to here with your bullshit,"_ said Kindaichi, perhaps unaware of Goshiki sneaking up on him. _"We've known each other since we were kids. But I'm not a child anymore. You don't have to keep walking around on eggshells with me. You hear me? Kunimi_ _—"_

A thud, followed by the sound of Sakusa's intern slumping to the ground.

 _"Sorry,"_ Goshiki apologized. _"Kindaichi."_

Goshiki appeared on screen once more before everything cut to nothingness. The video was over.

Chinen sagged at her desk. This was too draining. She needed a spa. A manicure. Anything to take her mind off... this. Absently, she scrolled through all the files that had been copied onto her laptop from Goshiki's, pausing when she noticed a video file she hadn't clicked on before. _Hm? What's this?_ Deciding it was worth checking out, she double-clicked on it. The MP4 player opened up and the video began to buffer.

It was only twenty seconds long, Chinen noted, intrigued, and dated back to many months before Goshiki's accident.

There was an explosion of noise before Goshiki's beaming, child-like face appeared in the screen. His phone, Chinen realized, he was recording on his phone. He must have liked this clip enough to download it on his phone.

 _"Welcome to my first video diary! I swear I'm gonna keep it up! I'll upload something every day!"_ Goshiki declared, blissfully unaware that he would break this promise. He huffed and puffed as he ran through the gates of his school. _"Look—it's Shirabu-senpai! Shirabu-senpai!"_

The phone was clumsily handled, but steady enough for Chinen to see a boy around Goshiki's age turn around. His expression was one of annoyance, at first, but it soon melted into something like fond exasperation.

Shirabu gave a small smile. _"Hey, Goshiki."_

 _"Shirabu-sen_ — _"_

The video ended.

Chinen ended her work day with an odd, persisting weight in her heart.

* * *

**May 23rd, 2018**

Goshiki's funeral fell on a Wednesday, just as his accident, the kidnapping of Miwa, and the murder of Oikawa had. Kindaichi and Kunimi wore their best suits to the funeral hall, arms stiff and legs heavy. Silence hung between them—there was so much to say, yet nothing at all. The weather forecast declared rain, and gray clouds were rolling in. Only Kunimi carried a folded umbrella with him, ready to spring it up between him and Kindaichi the moment the rain started.

Kindaichi had been two three funerals in his life. The first one had been one for his paternal grandfather, who had died from a stroke. The clouds had been clear that day, and Kindaichi distinctly recalled being six years and old and running through long grass that tickled his legs while the adults mourned a man Kindaichi had never truly known. The second had been Oikawa's funeral. It'd been snowing. No, wait, not quite. The night before that had had snow fall, but the day of... The ground had been covered with ice, but there'd been no snowfall.

And now...

 _Will it rain?_ Kindaichi asked, glancing skyward as they approached the looming funeral hall. There was a certain finality to death that Kindaichi had pushed away the first time around. It had been better to try and disregard the fact that Oikawa was well and truly gone. It had been better not to think about it at all, and it had only gotten him back where everything had started. Now, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of rain on the wind, he stood outside the funeral hall, his hands shoved in his pockets. It hadn't really hit him yet. That Goshiki, someone who he had considered his friend, was someone who he would never be seeing again. Instead, there was just an urge to do something with his hands—maybe fiddle with a Rubik's cube.

Kunimi halted before he could step inside, hovering at the entrance. Kindaichi, who had no such qualms, turned back. "Kunimi?"

"Sorry." Kunimi squished the handle of the umbrella against his side as he wiped his hands down his slacks. "I'm coming."

"It's okay. I understand."

Breathing out slowly, Kunimi regathered his bearings. He nodded. "Okay. I'm ready."

Together, they entered. It was more crowded than Kindaichi had thought it would be, or maybe it was because the hall they had rented could hardly be called that—it was just a _room_.

"Wow," muttered Kunimi, pressing against Kindaichi's side. "This is..." Whatever Kunimi thought it was, Kindaichi never found out.

Because Goshiki's mother noticed them, then, the hem of her skirt brushing against the floor as she hurried over to them. Her eyes were wide, but empty. She was not without intellectual thought, but rather currently lacked the capacity to process any sort of it. "Y-you," she stammered, wringing her hands. "You must be his friends. Kindaichi-san and Kunimi-san."

Kindaichi swallowed the growing lump in his throat. "Yes. That's us. I... I'm so sorry for your loss, Goshiki-san."

The poor woman looked as if she wanted to disappear. "Oh, my poor son," she moaned, on the verge of tears. "But I'm so happy... That he had friends like you..." She rubbed at one eye, a lock of hair falling from her conservative bun and brushing against her cheek. "Thank you for being here. Thank you so much."

Her husband emerged from the crowd and wrapped one comforting arm around her shoulders. A man of few words, Goshiki's father merely nodded at them, stiffly, before excusing himself and guiding his wife away.

They reminded Kindaichi of his own parents. Pillars of strength that had been weathered, greatly, by the loss of a child. A chilling thought struck him—if he died, would his parents look like this, too? Stooped beneath the weight of their shared grief, faces gaunt and knuckles white? He didn't want to think about it any longer.

Throughout the service, Kunimi was mute. Not in the same way as the bereaved, but his silence haunted Kindaichi. The funeral wasn't open casket—a blessing to Kindaichi—so he could imagine Goshiki wearing a mask of tranquility to make it easier for himself.

He was to be buried.

That in itself was unusual, as people normally chose to cremate their loved ones, and Kindaichi didn't say that he didn't think that Goshiki would like that very much, being trapped under the earth.

The entire service, Kindaichi felt as if he were listening to their pretty words with his head dunked underwater. _What is there to say, anyway?_ he thought. The priest described him as a "passionate young man" among other things. And yes, that was true, but it painted only a two-dimensional picture of who Goshiki was—who he had been. Kindaichi closed his eyes, thinking of the flourish in Goshiki's movements as he moved about in the kitchen, experimenting with all sorts of weird and wacky recipes. He thought of the way Goshiki had floundered in his choice of major, switching and switching until he had backed himself into a corner.

He thought of how Goshiki would have _loved_ the May Festival. The food and the music and the games—Goshiki would have loved it all.

Finally, it came to lower Goshiki's casket into the ground. Male family members lifted the casket and carried it outside, frailer men and weeping women trailing behind. The soles of their shoes scuffed against the cracked concrete as they shuffled out of the hall.

"Ah." Kindaichi accidentally shouldered another man. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," the man said, gruffly. He eyed Kindaichi, wearily, and it was then Kindaichi was able to match a name to the face. Semi Eita. "Hey, you're..."

At the same time, Kindaichi started, "You're the guy we..."

Awkwardly, they stared at each other.

"I didn't realize you knew him," Semi said, finding his words at last. He was struggling to speak, choked with grief.

"Yeah," was all Kindaichi could say in return, "I did." He glanced at Kunimi. "We did. Umm... Are all of Shiratorizawa here?" Kindaichi had been too wrapped up in his own misery to register anyone else besides himself, Kunimi, and Goshiki's parents.

"Not all," Semi replied. "Me, Ushijima, Tendou, Jin, Reon, and Hayato." All of the third years who had been on the regular rotation during Goshiki's first year. There was no mention of any of the first year or second year players, but Kindaichi wisely chose not to pry.

"Oh. Um..." Kindaichi didn't really know how to proceed. "I'm sorry."

Semi let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "Yeah. Me too." His eyes were wet. He looked a mess. Like he hadn't slept or showered in days.

An understanding silence fell over them, and the three men trudged after the procession. On the way to the burial ground, Semi cried. Not very loud, as his personality might have suggested, but every sniffle and sob made Kindaichi's heart twist to the point where he thought he was going to die. For his benefit, Kindaichi and Kunimi pretended that they were none the wiser of his sorrow.

At some point, Goshiki's mother had begun to cry, unrestrained. It was one hundred times worse than Semi's. She cried as if she had lost a limb, as if part of her had been taken away forever. She cried until she was barely able to stand, let alone walk, and had to be supported by her husband and brother.

Beside him, Kunimi's breathing quickened. "Shit," he cursed, rubbing his cheeks. "Shit."

"You can cry, you know," Kindaichi told him, seemingly blasé. "No one will think any less of you."

"Shut up, Kindaichi." Kunimi swallowed and did just that. Tears flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks. This was probably one of the worst days of his life. It was true for Kindaichi as well.

Only, Kindaichi could not summon the tears today. The tears that usually came so easily to him whenever he got upset or hurt did not come.

When they arrived at Goshiki's final resting place, a spot already dug out for him, Semi vanished from their side to join the rest of the Shiratorizawa boys. They welcomed him with murmurs that Kindaichi wasn't able to discern.

The casket was lowered.

 _Goodbye,_ Kindaichi said in silent farewell, hearing each pound of his heart between his ears. His eyes drooped, his eyelashes making the scene before him hazy. _Goodbye, goodbye._ He didn't want Goshiki to go. _Goodbye._

Many relatives left before the grave was filled. One by one, the people dispersed until the only ones left were him and Kunimi, Goshiki's parents, and Goshiki's former teammates. None of them said a word. Goshiki's mother's wretched sobbing had quietened into the occasional sniffle as she and her husband knelt at their son's grave.

Their _son_.

Kindaichi couldn't possibly imagine their pain. The pain of losing a child—not for the first time today, Kindaichi pondered upon his own mortality. The skies were clearer than before, sunlight pouring from the clouds, but the smell of rain was still in the wind.

Then it started.

A light drizzle.

Kunimi didn't put up the umbrella.

Kindaichi didn't ask him to.

Eventually, just as Goshiki's parents were about to leave, Ushijima stepped forward. Their gazes flicked toward, wondering what he would say or do. Wordlessly, Ushijima got down on his knees, one hand dipping into the inside of his suit blazer to retrieve a folded cloth.

 _No_ , Kindaichi's eyes widened ever so slightly, _not a cloth. It's—_

The fabric unfurled into Shiratorizawa's volleyball jersey, a big and blocky _1_ printed on the front and back.

Someone sobbed violently. Not Goshiki's mother, but Tendou, whose eyes were red and swollen.

Ushijima laid the jersey on the soil before Goshiki's headstone.

"Rest in peace," Kindaichi heard Ohira Reon utter, his voice thick with anguish. "Tsutomu."

The rain didn't let up, peacefully falling upon the earth in light showers, but it was time to leave. Goshiki's parents went first, followed by Shiratorizawa. Finally, Kindaichi and Kunimi turned around as well, walking down the hill.

Kindaichi peered over his shoulder, at the lone gravestone under the tree.

_Goodbye, Goshiki._

* * *

He panted as he ran up the hill, rain sticking his fringe to his forehead. He didn't stop running until Goshiki's headstone came into view. Slowing to a stop, Shirabu Kenjirou took a deep breath and exhaled.

The grass crunched behind him, and Kawanishi Taichi appeared with an umbrella.

It hadn't been difficult, getting into contact with Kawanishi again. If only for this. If only ever for this.

Shirabu caught sight of the Shiratorizawa jersey— _Ushijima's own jersey_ —laying on Goshiki's grave. His breath hitched in his throat, and something horrible welled up inside him. _His own captain's jersey, untouched and in pristine condition back in his closet—_

"Oh, Goshiki," Kawanishi whispered, walking forward and staring at the jersey—worn and torn in the hardships they had faced as a _team_ —on the ground. "Goshiki, you fool... You damn fool..." He lifted a fist to his mouth, trying to hide his distress.

Shirabu said nothing. Just stared at the innocent article of clothing.

The only thing Shirabu left Goshiki were flowers of regret and pity.

"I hope you're happy," Kawanishi said, bitterly, as he got into the driver's seat of his car.

"I want to die," admitted Shirabu, buckling his seat belt.

"No. _Live_ ," growled Kawanishi, starting the engine and stepping on the gas. "Dying is easy, living is harder. Live with the fact that you could have done something to save him. Live with that fact for the rest of your miserable fucking life."

"Tai— _Kawanishi_ —"

"I hope it haunts you every day. I hope every breath you take hurts because it's a breath Goshiki will never be able to take ever again." Kawanishi's knuckles were white from how hard he gripped the steering wheel. "I hate you, Shirabu. I hate you so, _so_ much."

Shirabu didn't respond.

"And I hate the fact," Kawanishi's gritted his teeth, "That Goshiki couldn't hate you at all."

_What?_

The final nail in the coffin. The straw that broke the camel's back. There were surely more idioms that could have described him right now, but none came to mind as something in Shirabu _crumpled_. _Goshiki... didn't hate me._ Almost imperceptibly, Shirabu shook, every muscle in his body tightening. Shame washed over him like a tsunami. Kawanishi would not save him from it. Would never rest until Shirabu drowned in shame.

Kawanishi drove him all the way back to Tokyo and told him to never call him again unless it was life or death. He dropped Shirabu off in front of his apartment. Having taken the day off today, all Shirabu could do was retreat back into his little home.

Had he always been this lonely? His apartment was barely furnished, most of the space taken up by nondescript shelves of textbooks on anatomy.

His clothes were wet, but Shirabu sat down on his bed anyway, the mattress sinking a little beneath his weight.

_Is this what my life is?_

No friends. Family that rarely bothered to check up on him. A dead underclassman whose memory would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would be hard-pressed to call it empty. 'Empty' was what teenage girls used to describe unfortunate love interests in fiction to drive home the tragedy of their dispositions. _Pray tell, if you really are so empty of a person, I could cut you up and expect a space where your intestines should be, right?_

But— _empty_. It was all that came to his mind right now.

His life was empty. Hollow. Dull. Colorless.

Hands numb from the cold, Shirabu pulled his phone out of his bag, impulsively opening up his private chat with Goshiki. A chat room that had been collecting dust for the last six years.

The last message ever sent had been from Goshiki, naturally. No words or anything, just a video Shirabu had only opened once before forgetting about.

He tapped on it.

_"Welcome to my first video diary! I swear I'm gonna keep it up! I'll upload something every day!_ _Look—it's Shirabu-senpai! Shirabu-senpai!"_

He saw himself smile, and he found himself despising that peaceful expression on his face. _"Hey, Goshiki."_

_"Shirabu-sen—"_

It ended.

Shirabu was all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The final funeral of the story. We've had a couple (Osamu's, Oikawa's, Miyazawa Meisa's), and Goshiki's one is the final one. This chapter, specifically the first section, was inspired by Naoki Urusawa's "Monster" and Osamu Dazai's "No Longer Human". Give 'em both a read in your spare time, if you want.
> 
> And a mini update on my life: I've been accepted into Pharmacy and I'm transferring universities. But because my degree is under the faculty of Medicine and Health, I have to get a whole lot of documents in order for clinical student placement, including a National Police Check. So I'll be visiting my local police station in the next few days. Bet that will be fun, I've always wanted to be inside one.


	50. Peace Among Strife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations keep rolling.

**May 21st, 2018**

When Sakusa walked into his living room, the sight of Atsumu sprawled on his couch was not the first unusual thing he had expected to see this morning. One of his expensive pillows had been kicked onto the floor, and Sakusa grumbled before bending over to pick it up. He tossed it at Atsumu's face—the blond awoke with a splutter.

"You have a bed, you know," Sakusa said dryly. "If I'd known you'd do this, I wouldn't have bought you bed sheets."

"Aw, but _Omi_ ," Atsumu whined. "There was the _Late Night Show with Takada Kiyomi_ playin' last night—"

"I don't care." Then Sakusa paused, back-tracking. "Wait. You watch Takada Kiyomi?"

"Duh."

"Hm. Strange. I was under the impression that her demographic were middle-aged housewives..."

"Hey! Who're ya callin' middle-aged?"

Sakusa snorted, unable to fight an amused smile. "Being someone's housewife doesn't bother you?" His Aunt Terano would have had a few words to say about that.

"I'd rather be someone's housewife than whatever the fuck I am right now." Atsumu pressed his lips into a thin line, brow creasing in mild frustration. "I just... I don't know where to go from here."

"You are a homeless freeloader," Sakusa said, matter-of-factly.

"Omi, d'ya _really_ hafta put it like _that_ —"

"Yes. But..." Sakusa hesitated, pondering on how exactly to proceed. "You... We... We're still young. You don't have to know where to go just yet. Just use this time to think."

Atsumu avoided his eyes. "You're doing pretty well for yerself. Prosecutor. And you're the same age as me."

"It's different. I'm here because I have a goal."

"A goal?"

"Yes. That's what you need to find before doing anything. It doesn't have to be anything specific."

"Then what?"

"Something you want to do."

Sakusa made himself breakfast while Atsumu got his affairs in order—namely, the latter had to go through the ordeal of heaving himself off the couch and dragging himself to the bathroom. The black-haired man wasn't feeling very hungry today, just a little peckish, so cereal sufficed. None of the sugary kind—Sakusa couldn't stand sugary cereals. Which was why his eye twitched when he saw a box of fruit loops in his kitchen cabinet. _Atsumu,_ he though, scathingly. Of-fucking-course Miya Atsumu was the kind of jackass who rotted his teeth on _fruit loops_. _They don't even have real fruit in them. Why the fuck are they advertised as 'fruit' loops, then? Maybe I should launch an investigation into this._ Just to make a point, Sakusa washed an apple and bit straight into it, crunching it furiously as his free hand poured cereal—good, _healthy_ cereal—into a bowl.

Atsumu, who had been halfway to the guest bathroom, jumped. "Damn! Are you okay there, Omi?"

"Peachy," Sakusa assured him, darkly.

"Hah! Haha. That's funny, 'cause you're eatin' an apple."

Sakusa deadpanned at him.

"Y'know what?" Atsumu threw up his arms. "I'll just go. No one ever appreciates my jokes..." He was about to round the corner before stopping, not turning around. "Hey, Omi?"

Sakusa swallowed a mouthful of apple before replying. "Yes?"

"What if what I wanna do is impossible?"

 _What, does he want to bring back the dead or something?_ "What's so impossible about what you want?"

At this, Atsumu did turn. "Don't laugh," he warned. "Or I swear I'll kick yer ass no matter how much I owe ya."

"Do I really seem like the kind of person who would laugh at something like that? Just spit it out already."

Atsumu tongued the inside of his cheek, passing one hand through his blond hair. His roots were starting to show, Sakusa noticed. His natural hair was a dark, chocolate-y brown. Briefly, he wondered how long he would have to glimpse this rare sight before Atsumu inevitably touched up his hair. "I... wanna go pro. With volleyball, that is. But..." Atsumu sighed. "It's something I left behind a long time ago. There's no way I'd be able to keep up with the pros the way I am now. And by the time that I do, I'll be too old for the league. The most I'd get is a few years before they force me to retire."

Maybe if he were more faithful and bullheaded, Sakusa might have said something along the lines of 'It's not impossible! It's just _hard_.' But Sakusa was pragmatic by nature, and Atsumu's dream wasn't at all practical or even attainable. "Is there anything else you want to do?"

Atsumu shrugged, listless. "I just know I want to do somethin' with volleyball. That's the only thing I've ever really been good at it, and it's the only thing I ever... loved."

Sakusa felt a pang of pity for the man. But he quickly shook it away—he didn't think Atsumu was the type of person who liked to be pitied. They were the same in regard—only when other people started pitying them did they truly feel pitiful. "There are other career opportunities in the v-league," Sakusa told him. "I don't know enough to name them all, but you could probably find a job there that doesn't require a high school diploma. You have work experience, right?"

"Yeah, but it's all manual labor. Blue-collar work."

"Doesn't matter. Work is work. Not to mention, you're familiar with the game."

Atsumu's lips quirked upward. "Yeah, I guess there's that."

"Good." Sakusa's cheeks heated up, and he bent his neck to see if he had accidentally turned the stove on. There was only a second possibility then, one he wasn't sure if he had the time or energy to entertain in this tumultuous times. "Now go shower," he said, feigning irritation, "You're stinking up my house."

Atsumu laughed uproariously. "Always gotta get the last word in, don'tcha, Omi-Omi?"

"I— _you_ — _stop calling me that_." Sakusa faced away from Atsumu, chewing his apple moodily. At least Atsumu wouldn't be able to see the growing redness on his cheeks. _God. What am I thinking? He's a witness._ Not to mention, the last time he had ever _liked_ someone, it hadn't exactly gone well. Midorima didn't know it, but he had _ruined_ him.

"Stop callin' me Miya, then, and we'll see." With that, Atsumu was gone, whistling a merry tune on his way to the bathroom.

Sakusa finished the rest of his apple and threw the core into the bin.

Miya Atsumu... was not the star he had once been. _Does it matter, though?_ Sakusa quite liked Atsumu as he was now. Atsumu was a _fighter_. And that was more than admirable in his eyes—enough to redeem his less attractive qualities. _But how much? How much do I like him?_ It was a question he dared asked himself, one with an answer he wasn't very sure of.

He started on his cereal. The flavor was bland. He would have added some berries in if he'd been bothered. But, alas, he was feeling more sluggish than usual today—had been ever since Kuroo Rina's big reveal.

 _Ugh. Kuroo Rina._ Ever since the bomb had dropped, she'd been a major headache for him. She had actually been quite cooperative, but the sheer magnitude of the truth she had revealed still had him reeling. Even now, Sakusa could scarcely believe it. Kuroo Rina had been pretended to be Hirakawa Shion for the past decade. The question was: _Why?_ Rina hadn't been able to provide an answer to that. She was just as much in the dark of the reasons behind her role as Sakusa was and hadn't been very helpful beyond telling he and Okazaki the nuances of her job, which was really quite simple and boiled down to _be Hirakawa Shion, first daughter of Hirakawa Daizen._ That begged yet another question. Where was the _real_ Hirakawa Shion? _And Noriko... She must know about this. There's no way she doesn't. So... Why has she kept quiet all this time?_ He could guess, easily enough, but it would all be conjecture. What Sakusa needed—what he and Karasuda and Chinen needed—was cold, hard proof.

He'd already made a call.

Now he just needed for them to get back to him.

On the kitchen table, his phone buzzed, and Sakusa startled. _Already?_ He checked the number. _Hm? Shirabu? What does he want?_ He swiped the green button across his screen. "Hello?"

 _"Sakusa..."_ Sakusa didn't know how someone could sound like death, but Shirabu somehow managed that feat. _"Do you think you can come down to the station today? There's someone who would like to meet you."_

"It depends," Sakusa replied, neutral. "Who are they and what do they want?"

 _"She's the the Superintendent of Criminal Affairs in Sendai."_ Shirabu sounded not only like death, but also very strained. _"She came down to Tokyo a few days ago, and she's been... arranging the evidence for court. And,"_ he sighed deeply, _"terrorizing my boss."_

The Superintendent of Criminal Affairs? And she had a bone to pick with poor old Miyazawa? Well, that was certainly interesting. "Hang on. What's this about court?"

 _"No trial date's been fixed yet, but I'd_ assume _that the Prosecutor-General and that director are going to get tried."_ Shirabu's debilitating sarcasm was back. Good. Sakusa had almost been worried with how sullen Shirabu had seemed. _"Yeah. That trial. This is evidence supporting the director's confession."_

There was more evidence against Hirakawa and Shō? Sakusa's eyes went wide. _This is perfect!_ "When should I be there?"

_"Umm... Maybe sometime this afternoon? She's drunken herself into a stupor and won't be up for a while."_

"Why would she drink on a work night?"

_"Actually, she's hungover from this morning."_

"I see."

" _I'll text you, okay?"_

"Alright, thanks."

Shirabu hung up first, and Sakusa pretended that he wasn't petty enough for that to bother him.

* * *

Two bumbling idiots had burst into the house uninvited. At least, that was Miya Atsumu's first impression of the situation. He just stood in the living room—half-naked and water droplets still dripping from his hair, which had fallen over his eyes—as the brown-haired man picked up one of Sakusa's expensive decorative vases and waved it at the woman's face.

"Uh," said Atsumu, intelligently. They turned to him. "He's not gonna like that."

"Oh!" The woman gasped. "Oh, it's you! The boyt— _witness_!"

Self-consciously, Atsumu adjusted the towel on his waist. "Yeah. And? Wait, are we being robbed? 'Cause if we are, I'm gonna go call the police. Please don't touch anythin', m'kay?" He made a great show of turning on his heel and marching to Sakusa's room.

"No, no, no, wait! We're not burglars!" The woman rushed after him, hand reaching out to grab his arm before thinking the better of it. "Look, I have a key to this place, okay?" She dug through the pockets of her blazer and fished out a set of keys, jingling it.

"Those could be your house keys for all I know," Atsumu pointed out, although he was quite certain that they were not, in fact, robbers of any sort.

"Oh my god," the guy at the back said loudly. "Can we hurry the fuck up? Please? I have a date with a cute girl today."

"Hah! More like a date with your _left hand_ —"

_"Fuck off, Hana, you dirty bitch!"_

_Oh, geez, okay._ Atsumu was starting to wish that he hadn't left his clothes in the guest room, because this was the sort of confrontation he would've liked to witness fully clothed. _This is awkward. What do I do? Call Omi? But then what's he gonna do? Tackle them to the ground? Maybe I should do that. No, wait, I'm still naked. Fuck._ Tackling people in the nude was a no-no in his book.

Okazaki Hana and Okazaki Naoji glared at each other, electricity practically pulsing around them.

Then the door to Sakusa's room slammed open. "What the _fuck_ is happening out here? You—" He stuttered to a halt when he noticed Atsumu standing in nothing but a towel. Atsumu cleared his throat, pretending he was unaware of the attention. Sakusa seemed to snap out of it quickly enough. "I— _okay_. Okay." He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation. "Miya, please go get dressed, and... What are you two terrible terrors doing in my house?"

 _Smooth, Omi, smooth._ Atsumu mock-saluted, deciding to spare Sakusa the trouble of arguing. Also because there was nothing more than he would've liked to be clothed right now. He was pretty sure that the Okazaki siblings were _both_ checking him out when they thought he wasn't looking. "On it."

As Atsumu disappeared into his room, Naoji answered Sakusa's question. "What, didn't you get the hag's message?"

Okazaki stepped on his foot. Hard. Ignoring Naoji's yowls, she elaborated, "Sorry for dropping by on such short notice. I should've known you don't check your texts very often." Then, unexpectedly, she squealed, clutching her cheeks. "Ahh, I'm sorry! But you two really are living together like this...!"

Sakusa scowled. "You already knew this, Okazaki."

"I know! But seeing is a whole 'nother thing entirely!"

"Shut up, yaoi fangirl," Naoji interrupted, scoffing. "And tell him already."

Okazaki Naoji was not somebody Sakusa was fond of. He was nosy, loud and crude—much like his sister, but dialed to one-hundred. For once, however, Sakusa found himself being very fond of Naoji's interference. "What is it?" _What's so important that you had to use the emergency key to my house?_

"Well," Okazaki began, legs shifting so that she stood pigeon-toed in her reluctance. "There was a protest outside Chiba prison today. If you read your text messages, you would know."

 _What? A protest?_ Sakusa let the information sink in. There was only one thing that this could have been about, and it sent his heart aflutter. He'd been keeping up with the news, and he knew that Iwaizumi Hajime had gained an influx of supporters over the past few days. His name was even part of a popular hashtag on Tweeter, one used mostly by Japanese citizens partaking in online political discourse.

"There weren't many who showed up," Okazaki went on, "But the fact that anyone bothered to show up at all is... It's amazing."

"Yes," Sakusa agreed. "It is. You came all the way here to tell me that?"

Okazaki grinned. "I wanted to see you, too. Plus, I hadn't had the opportunity to use the key until today."

"So you just felt like breaking in?"

"Pretty much," Okazaki and Naoji said at the same time, exchanging a glance. They often bickered, but the resemblance between them was simply uncanny.

"Not to mention," Okazaki added, "I wanted to see how the domestic life is treating you."

"Okazaki, _please_."

She dropped her voice to a hushed whisper. "But I'm not wrong, am I? You _like_ him. You _like_ Miya Atsumu."

Sakusa's expression soured. "I don't have time for that right now, Okazaki."

"Nonsense! There's always time for love."

"It's _not_ —look, I haven't figured things out yet. For all I know, it could just be physical attraction."

"So? There's nothing wrong with that as a starting point. Just look at my brother."

Sakusa raised a brow.

Okazaki backpedaled. "You're right, bad example."

Naoji squawked. "I'm _right_ here, you guys! Who was the one who chauffeured you here, Hana? Me!"

"And it's all you're good for, you deadbeat scoundrel."

As Sakusa tried to tear the siblings apart from one another without touching them, Atsumu leaned against the wall of the corridor, out of sight. Their noisy bickering turned into white noise as Atsumu replayed the words he had heard in his head. Sakusa liked him. He _liked_ him. Or, at least, he liked his body. Which was fine. Atsumu was no stranger to flings. Although... _He doesn't strike me as the fling kinda guy._ His slapped his cheeks. _Snap out of it, 'Tsumu!_ _So what if Omi-Omi thinks I'm hot? I_ am _hot._ It was just a fact of life. Him and Sakusa... They were just too different. Again, it was just a fact. Sakusa had a blooming career and a high-end salary and Atsumu... Atsumu had... nothing. Nothing worth showing for.

Atsumu paced up the corridor, then back down, making sure to make lots of noise. "Hey, guys, I'm ba..." He stared at Sakusa repeatedly beating Naoji on the head with a back-scratcher he had procured from somewhere.

"Ow, ow, ow, stop!" Naoji screeched, releasing the headlock he had put his sister into.

"Oh, good," Sakusa turned to Atsumu, handing him the wooden device, "You're back. Do you want a turn?"

"Are ya kiddin'? _Hell_ yeah." Atsumu took the back-scratcher from him and held it up threateningly. _Omi looks good like this,_ he didn't say as he approached a balking Naoji. _Carefree,_ as much as Sakusa could get, anyway, _in his home clothes..._ He liked seeing this side of him. Knowing that Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn't always a no-nonsense prosecutor with a log up his ass and a raging boner for justice in his tight designer pants was comforting.

"Miya?" Sakusa was looking at him. "Your face is completely red."

 _What the?! Fuck!_ Atsumu glanced away, letting Naoji retreat to a safe distance. "Really? Uhh, it's just a 'lil hot in here. Also, from the shower. Yeah."

"Oh, hell," Okazaki said, palming her face. "Now there's two of them."

"Are just gonna ignore the fact that this guy was prepared to finish what your boss started?" Naoji demanded, crouching behind the couch.

"Yes," Sakusa and Atsumu said in unison, faces schooled into masks of solemn neutrality.

"Definitely," Okazaki said at the same time.

Atsumu laughed—he knew he would miss these days.

* * *

"Wow." Standing on the sidewalk in front of his dormitory, Kindaichi's eyes were shining as Sakusa pulled up in the cul-de-sac. "I forgot how cool your car is, Sakusa."

"I had it deep-cleaned yesterday," Sakusa shared as Kindaichi got into the passenger seat. "Strange—this isn't the same place I dropped you off at last time."

"Ah, yeah, about that... I got shifted to a new dorm. I'm sharing a duo with Kunimi now. Oh, and Kuroo, our other roommate... He moved out with his girlfriend, so it's me and Kunimi."

Sakusa drove out of the cul-de-sac, merging into the main road. "How is it?"

"Pretty good." Kindaichi smiled. "We've been practically attached at the hip since primary school, so it's not like we're not getting along."

"But?" Sakusa sensed a 'but'.

Kindaichi's smile wavered. "It's... a little quiet."

In time, Kindaichi would get used to it. But Sakusa knew how he felt—the _silence_. It was deafening and confining. Like being trapped in a soundproof layer, doomed to watch and interact with the world but never hear its ringing beauty. He'd been like that, once, when his father and Komori had died within just a month of each other.

"Hey, Sakusa?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you bringing me along with you to the station? Why not go with Okazaki-san or by yourself?" Kindaichi sounded genuinely confused, and Sakusa couldn't blame him. Not really. The lines in their relationship had long been muddied in Sakusa's point of view, but Kindaichi probably still thought Sakusa only cared for him as some subordinate.

"Okazaki has other commitments today. And..." Sakusa frowned. How would he even say this? Saying 'I miss you' would sound too strange coming from him. "I missed working with you," he settled for, "And I think you probably need a day out."

"Really?" Kindaichi's eyes were round. "You missed working with _me_?"

"You're selling yourself short." A little anxiously, Sakusa tapped a finger on the steering wheel, waiting for the red light to turn green in front of him. "And what if I do? I consider you a friend, Kindaichi."

Poor Kindaichi looked like Sakusa had just thrown him out of a plane but recovered after a moment. "Wha—I mean—! Yes! You're my friend, too," Kindaichi managed eventually, "I didn't know that you also..."

"Thought of you as a friend?"

"Yeah. I mean, well, you're my boss."

Sakusa shrugged. "So?"

"So..." Kindaichi blinked. "Huh. So nothing, I guess." The smile was back again, this time in full force, and Sakusa took pleasure in knowing that he was at least partially responsible for that.

They made good time, arriving at the station ten minutes before noon. Sakusa parked his car in the guest lot.

As they walked the short distance to the police building, Sakusa texted Shirabu.

 **[Sakusa]:** We're here

 **[Shirabu]:** k

 **[Shirabu]:** come to break room 3

Sure enough, Shirabu was found sitting next to the coffee machine in the aforementioned room while Obata and Smith were exchanging dinner recipes at a nearby table. A few other workers were inside but keeping to themselves.

Shirabu didn't greet them when they entered—didn't even seem to see them. He just stared blankly at the wall, chin resting on his palm.

"Oh? What's this?" Obata said as they approached. She grinned—nastily. "If it isn't the great suspended one."

"Hello to you, too, Obata-san," Sakusa replied coolly. "We're just here to talk to Shirabu."

"I'm surprised you managed to find parking today. Some of the higher-ups came in today for a meeting so the basement should be packed."

"We parked outside," Kindaichi explained, inserting himself into the conversation.

"Whaaat? You parked that high-class, sexy machine _outside_? Black Beauty?" Obata gasped in horror.

"The Midnight Mare?" Shirabu, stirring from his depressive slump for the first time, cocked an inquisitive brow.

"The Sleek Stallion?" chimed Smith, through a mouthful of octopus sausages and corn kernels.

Sakusa's eye twitched. "Oh, for god's sake—"

Kindaichi blinked, his arm feeling mildly itchy in its sling. "You guys named his car?"

"Can we please just do what we came here for?" Sakusa said abruptly, glaring at everyone. Only Smith had the decency to looked abashed. Just for that, Sakusa added, "'Sleek Stallion' was the best one."

Obata groaned, slamming her hand on the table as Smith fist-pumped the air. "Aw, come on! 'Black Beauty' is so _obviously_ superior!"

Shirabu slid down from his stool like a snake, ignoring the banter of his colleagues. "Come," he said quietly, weary gaze flicking between Kindaichi and Sakusa. "She's in the old man's office." The bowl-cut man looked like he had seen better days, but Sakusa, frankly, didn't really care about Shirabu at the moment.

"Yeah, you guys go," Obata waved them off, "I have to test some DNA samples for Senior Superintendent Yagami anyway."

"Oh, Yagami Soichiro-san?" Smith perked up. "I hear his son, Light, was offered a promotion. But he turned it down."

"Seriously? Isn't he meant to be a genius? His father is retiring soon—the least he could do is make more money to feed his parents..."

The meaningless conversation faded into the background as Sakusa and Kindaichi followed Shirabu down the hall. They took the elevator to one of the upper floors. Miyazawa's office was on the same level as most of the higher authorities like Superintendent Keishi.

"Hey, um," Kindaichi tried to make some small talk with Shirabu on the way, "We've never formally met, have we?"

"No," Shirabu said flatly, not looking at him.

Kindaichi caught the hint. "Right. I can see why now."

Sakusa's mask hid his smile.

"Here." Shirabu knocked once on the office door before opening it. "Pardon the intrusion..."

What they saw when they entered was most unusual, but Shirabu didn't seem to be fazed by it.

"Fuck off, old man!" Superintendent Ishigami Yua was snapping as Miyazawa chased her around the office. She was holding a bottle of liquor close to her chest and the two of them were power-walking around the room.

"Ishigami-san," Miyazawa began tiredly, "Please—"

"Turn yourself in and maybe I'll consider it!"

"I—" Miyazawa cut himself off when he realized Sakusa and Kindaichi were behind Shirabu. His face went as white as a sheet, and it was here Sakusa knew that the man was guilty of _something_. "Ah... Sakusa-san..."

"Oh, goodie!" The liquor sloshed in the bottle as Ishigami hopped over Miyazawa's desk, knocking a pile of important-looking papers on the floor in the swift motion. She landed in Miyazawa's chair, adjusting the height to its highest. The crank squeaked annoyingly. "The cavalry are here."

"Please don't tell me you're still drunk," Shirabu said, blandly.

"A little hungover, but I'll be fine."

"Shirabu," Sakusa interjected, "What is going _on_ here?"

Kindaichi hurried over to Miyazawa to help him collect the papers, nodding when Miyazawa offered him his thanks.

"I'll tell you what's going on." Ishigami spun once in the chair. "Evidence for the Oikawa case back in 2012 was falsified. Shirababy brought it to my attention."

Sakusa rounded on Shirabu. "You did?"

A shrug. "I just asked her to poke around a little... I didn't think she would actually find anything."

"So," Ishigami suddenly seemed more sober as she straightened in her chair, "I've compiled a paper for submission from the court. I'd like you to review it, prosecutor, before I officially hand it in. And while you're at it..." She closed her eyes. "Simple deduction tells me that you're probably one of the only people who has seen most sides of this case. The perpetrators', the victims', the scapegoat's..."

She wasn't wrong. Sakusa had indeed 'seen most sides' of the story. "And?"

"What I want," she pointed at him, then at Miyazawa, "Is for you to convince this old coot to fess up."

"Aren't you a superintendent? You have grounds to arrest him."

"She's got a few screws loose," mumbled Shirabu, shoving his hands in the pockets of his lab coat rather indignantly. "I think she'd rather die than do things by the book."

Kindaichi tried to joke, "Kinda like you, eh, Sakusa?"

It didn't really land. Sakusa gave him a dry look. "The book is a useful reference. Don't compare me to someone who probably burnt it the moment she got her hands on it."

Kindaichi winced. "Right. Sorry."

"Shirababy and onion-head," Ishigami requested, "Can you two leave the room, please? This is between the three of us now."

"Fine by me." Shirabu turned heel immediately, not wanting to breathe the same air as her for long.

"Onion-head?" Kindaichi sounded incredulous. "I haven't been called that since high school." Awkwardly, he combed his hair with his fingers. "I really need to cut my hair..." He obeyed, though, excusing himself and padding from Miyazawa's side to the door.

The moment the door closed, Ishigami lost her cheery exterior, her features hardening. "Alright, Miyazawa-san. I'd like you to explain the situation to Sakusa-san."

"There's nothing to explain," Miyazawa said weakly.

"Stop bullshitting or else I'll arrest you right here and now. You falsified the evidence for the Oikawa case. Why? Who put you up to it?" She glanced at Sakusa. "What about you? You have any idea?"

"I have a hunch," Sakusa replied. "Miyazawa-san... You probably don't recognize me, but I was... close with your niece in the past."

"Oh, no," Miyazawa smiled faintly, "I do recognize you. You've grown up well, Kiyoomi-kun."

 _Good. That makes things easier, I guess._ "Why don't you take a seat?" Ishigami took this as her cue to relinquish possession of the chair. Eager to relieve his old bones, Miyazawa sat down. "Miyazawa-san... The only reason I can possibly come up with for you to take such drastic actions... Is because of Hira— _Noriko_. At her request, you planted Iwaizumi-san's fingerprints from Noriko's clay pig on the murder weapon. I checked the records before I came—you worked for the Miyagi Prefectural Police during the time Oikawa was murdered. It lines up with Shō's confession. You did this all for her."

Sakusa jutted out his chin defiantly, waiting for him to deny it. But Miyazawa didn't. He considered Sakusa's words, then leaned back in his chair. "Yes. It's true."

"Hm?" Sakusa scrutinized him. "No resistance?"

"I think," Miyazawa said. "I've wanted the truth to come out for a long time now. At least, on a subconscious level I did. I can't count the amount of times I've wanted to tell Shirabu-kun the truth. But he would've been so disappointed in me... Too late for that, I suppose. I don't believe that he _isn't_ listening through the door right now."

"Do you know how many people's lives you've helped fuck up?" Sakusa asked, bluntly. "Ishigami-san is right—I've seen the shit they've been through. Those people... None of them deserved to suffer like this."

Miyazawa smiled sadly. "I know I'm trash. But after Meisa died... Noriko-chan was the only one who I could still protect. Shion... Daizen took her somewhere and she never came back. A new woman replaced her. I don't know where she is, but Noriko is still here. She's my sister's daughter. How could I abandon her in her time of need?"

"Her time of need was conspiring to _murder_. Forgive me if I'm not sympathetic."

"I am not asking for your sympathy. I know what she and I did was wrong. We deserve to burn in hell when we die. But while I still breathe, I will do anything to help her."

 _Gotcha._ "Then live up to your word. _Help_ her. Help her finally be free of her father. You've been covering for Daizen, haven't you? You know all the things he's done." Sakusa pulled out the chair in front of Miyazawa's desk, sitting down and inching forward. "What he did to _Meisa-san_."

Miyazawa flinched. "There's no need to go that far," he snapped. "I already told you I wanted the truth to be known. I will testify against them. I will save Noriko-chan once and for all. But I cannot do it alone. If her testimony does not align with mine... There is only so much we can do."

Sakusa nodded. "I know. Please leave that to me. I'll convince her." _If not me, then..._ "Ishigami-san," the superintendent hummed in response, "I'll proof-read your document and get Karasuda or Chinen to submit it. Miyazawa-san, please get in contact with the prosecutors I mentioned by the end of the today."

"Roger that," Ishigami said breezily. "I have it on a hard drive as well as a physical copy."

"Give me both."

After the exchange had been made, Sakusa received a text from Kindaichi.

 **[Kindaichi]:** After you're done, do you want to go for lunch?

"Thanks for your time," Ishigami tossed over her shoulder as she cuffed Miyazawa, "It was a good show."

"Yes, I'm sure it was. I'll see you in court, Ishigami-san."

"Right back atcha."

Kindaichi was waiting outside Miyazawa's office, fiddling with his phone. When he noticed Sakusa coming out, he beamed. "Did you see my message?"

"Mm. Where do you want to go?"

Kindaichi listed a string of restaurants off the top of his head, Sakusa listening contentedly. Moments like this were nice, when they could take a breather from important matters. They'd made it to the car when Sakusa's phone rang.

"Oh, go ahead," Kindaichi said before Sakusa could excuse himself.

"Thank you." Sakusa picked up, lifting the device to his ear. "Hello?" Nobody answered. Irritably, he held it out in front of him. There was one voicemail left for him. Dialing _123_ on his phone to open his voicemail, he raised it to his ear once more.

_"Your visitation request has been accepted. Please come in on the twenty-third, at three-thirty in the afternoon, Sakusa-san. Please do not reply to this voicemail. Thank you."_

Good. Sakusa made the final phone call he needed.

_"Sakusa?"_

"Hello, Midorima."

* * *

**May 23rd, 2018**

Sakusa couldn't help it. He drank in the sight of her— _relished_ in the sight of her behind the reinforced plastic screen. Sitting on the opposite side of him, Hirakawa Noriko's gaze was dark, her princess-like bangs partially shadowing her eyes.

"What do you want?" Noriko broke the silence. Her voice was somewhat muffled by the screen.

"You look horrible," Sakusa told her, crossing one leg over the other.

She sneered. "Try being detained in the same space for fourteen days."

"You can take it. Legally, you're only able to be kept here for twenty-three, anyway."

"You don't need to recite the law to me, Sakusa-san."

"Because you made it?"

"Don't be petty."

"Tch." Sakusa clicked his tongue. "You've always made it hard for me."

"That's not my problem."

"Right. You have bigger fish to fry right now, don't you?" Sakusa steepled his fingers, looking her straight in the eye. "Hirakawa. I don't give a flying _fuck_ what happens to you. You know this, right? Do you know why that is?" She said nothing. "I know you've always seen me as a child, even now. But this has nothing to do with Midorima or my personal distaste for you.

"This isn't about us anymore. It's about the lives you've ruined with your own selfishness. Do you even _realize_ the extent of the damage you've caused? Do you ever think about them? Oikawa and Iwaizumi. I'm not even counting their families and friends because then we'd be here forever." Sakusa narrowed his eyes hatefully. "Do you? Or are they just nothing to you?"

Again, Noriko said nothing. Sakusa had expected this. "No matter how much I hate you... I know you're not heartless. You can't ever take back what you did, but you have the opportunity to make things right for Iwaizumi-san and the rest of the victims."

She frowned. "What are you talking about? How could I possibly...?"

"All you have to do," Sakusa never wavered, "is talk. If not for the victims, then for yourself. This is your opportunity... to be free."

Noriko stared at him as if he were insane. "I'll only ever be free if I keep silent. My father's working on it, you know. You won't win—"

"If they win, then you lose."

She sucked in a breath. "What are you saying?"

"I know about her. I know about Hirakawa Shion."

All of the color left her cheeks. "No. No, you _can't_."

"Where is he keeping her, Hirakawa?" Sakusa asked, urgently.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop playing games with me. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. It's because of her, isn't it?" She was starting to shake in her chair, but Sakusa pressed on. "It makes sense. It's all because of her! The moment you married Midorima, it should have meant freedom from your father. Yet, you remained under his thumb? Why? Because you were scared. Not for yourself, but for _her_. You were worried that she would meet the same fate as your _mother_ —"

Noriko slammed a palm on the screen. "Shut _up_!" she screamed. "You know nothing! _Nothing_!"

"They say he beat her to death. It's true, isn't it?"

"He didn't!" The speed at which she was losing her composure was astonishing. "He didn't, he would never—!"

"Hirakawa." Sakusa sighed, crossing his arms. " _Noriko_. I already received confirmation from your uncle, Dr. Miyazawa. He autopsied her body and found signs of blunt force trauma and traces of your father's DNA. She didn't die from an _illness_. The evidence was submitted to court two days ago and is being reviewed as we speak."

Noriko sunk in her seat, eyes faraway. "No... No, he... He betrayed me...? Why...? Why would he...?"

"He didn't betray you," Sakusa said quietly, a crease in his brow. "He wanted to save you. Your uncle might be the only one in your whole family who actually cares about you. Listen, Noriko. I won't pretend to understand the hell you've had to live through. But one word from you, and we can make him disappear for good. Will you cooperate with me?"

She shook her head. "I can't. I can't, I can't... He'll kill her... He'll kill her, I know he will... No. No. We're going to win. Maybe I'll have to live like a slave to my father before he dies, but if it means she'll live, then I'll do it. I'll do anything for Shion."

"Liar. If that were true, she wouldn't be locked up wherever she is."

"At least she'd still be _alive_."

"An existence not worth living. Does your father hurt her? Beat her, like he did to your mother? Like he did to you?"

"Stop."

"It doesn't have to be like that anymore."

Noriko lowered her gaze, chewing on her lip. "I'm sorry. But... I can't."

Disappointment settled in his heart. Sakusa closed his eyes. _I guess this is too much to expect from her._ He'd encountered abuse victims before, and he knew how hard it was for them to speak against their abuser _._ There was only one thing left to do. Sakusa turned in his chair and said to the guard, "Bring him in, please."

"Yessir." The guard ducked out before coming back with—

Noriko's face fell. "Shintaro?"

Midorima didn't say anything as he took a seat beside Sakusa.

"You heard everything?" Noriko was stricken. "You..."

Sakusa tugged the blazer of his shirt to reveal a hidden mic. "He heard everything."

Wordlessly, Midorima took his earpiece out, setting it on the counter. "Noriko... I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you, in the end."

"No," horrified, Noriko pressed her hands against the plastic, "No, Shintaro, it wasn't your fault—I couldn't tell you, I—!"

The chair screeched as Midorima abruptly stood again, taking a few steps back. Then, to Sakusa's incredulity, he prostrated, his glasses slipping from his nose and his forehead touching the filthy floor. _Midorima..._

"Please," Midorima implored. "Let us help you."

"We'll make sure she isn't hurt," added Sakusa, unable to completely hide his discomfort at the sight of Midorima bowed down like that. "After this, he won't be able to hurt anyone ever again."

"Shintaro," Noriko begged, tears of shame sliding down her cheeks. "Shintaro, get up, please. _Please_."

Midorima didn't. "Noriko. For the first time in your life... Please rely on me."

Sakusa observed their interaction without much reaction. This was his last gamble. If she refused, he didn't know who or what else to use against her. _Come on,_ he urged silently. _Come on, Hirakawa. We can't win this without you._

Noriko brushed a tear away, taking a deep breath before exhaling. "Shintaro, get up. I... I'll do it.

_"I'll tell you everything."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so like this is officially a Death Note AU where Light Yagami never got the note and everybody lived yipee good for them but there must be balance in the universe so the HQ cast are shouldering all the suffering of the Death Note cast LMAO
> 
> Also yes, there was a Helluva Boss reference somewhere in the first section
> 
> I've been somewhat annoyed at the HQ fandom lately. The first episode of 2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Team came out recently, and I've seen fans calling it a rip off of Haikyuu or comparing it constantly to Haikyuu by calling it HQ the 2nd or something. And then when sensible comments point out that they shouldn't say things like that, they go "LMAO UR JUST MAD" or "WHY U SO PRESSED IT WAS A JOKE". If you do these things, let me tell you that you are very, very annoying and nobody likes it when you do that.
> 
> Also, the first episode of 2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Team was really good IMO and I know I'm definitely gonna follow this anime.
> 
> For now, please enjoy this chapter.


	51. A Shadow's Tale (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Iwaizumi Hajime left behind.

_If I did sum up_

_My life I would say that I_

_Exist as shadow_

**"His Shadow" , haiku by Iwaizumi Satoshi, Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High School, Class 1-2, 26/12/12**

* * *

**December 4th, 2012**

They said he was too young to understand what was going on. Too young to even comprehend the severity of his brother's actions. But he wasn't. He _wasn't_ too young, he _wasn't_ too naive— _Hajime didn't do it_. Panting, Satoshi ran up the hill to the local police station, where he knew Hajime was being held. His parents had sent him to school to avoid the ugliness, but as soon as they had driven off, Satoshi had turned heel and ran after them.

"Hajime!" Satoshi shouted as a crowd of people came into view. "Hajime! _Hajime!_ "

He found his parents in the midst of the crowd. Neighbors and friends— _former friends_ —had come to watch, noses turned upward in disgust.

"Satoshi!" Futaba gasped as Satoshi ran into her arms, breathing heavily. "Satoshi, what are you doing here?! You should be at—"

"I can't go to school!" Satoshi begged her. "I want to see Hajime! Why are they taking him away?! He didn't do it!"

Futaba burst into tears, and Satoshi backed away into his father's torso. Yoichi placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

A string of juvenile prisoners—chained up—were led out, Hajime among them.

The people began to whisper—cruel and poisonous.

"There he is..."

"The Iwaizumi boy."

"I can't believe it. A murderer has been living here with us for the past thirteen years..."

"Can you believe he killed poor Oikawa-san's son? She couldn't even show up here today."

"Yes, but _they_ could."

A chill went down Satoshi's spine as the piercing gazes of people he had once said hello to in the neighborhood turned vindictively to where he was huddling with his father and mother. _Don't look at us like that,_ he thought wildly. _Hajime didn't do it! My brother is not a murderer!_ Their eyes snapped something in him, and Satoshi yanked away from Yoichi, running closer to where the prisoners were being led into the transportation van. His father called after him, but Satoshi ignored him, all but slamming into the police barricade.

" _Stop!_ " Satoshi screamed. "You're making a mistake! My brother's innocent! He didn't do it! _He didn't kill Tooru-san!_ "

A few women gave him pitiful looks. Satoshi decided then that he hated all of them. Hated their faces, which could go from sneering to simpering with the flick of a switch.

_Turn around!_ Satoshi pleaded, staring straight at Hajime's back. _Turn around and look them all in the eye and tell them you didn't do it!_ But Hajime didn't. Couldn't have. The ropes and chains made it impossible. "No!" Satoshi was growing hoarse, but he kept shouting, kept fighting even as tears welled up in his eyes. "Hajime! _Hajimeeeee!_ " He blubbered, fat drops of wetness rolling down his cheeks and pooling at his chin.

His brother was stepping into the van, about to disappear forever.

One last time, Satoshi bellowed with all his might, reaching over the barrier.

_"HAJIMEEEEEE!"_

* * *

**December 11th, 2012**

Yoichi allowed him to stay at home for a week before sending him back to school. His father's hands were tied—Satoshi knew, logically, that he couldn't stop going to school forever, especially when his grades were average at best. And his mother...

She was destitute.

Satoshi despised seeing her like this. Sometimes, she would be doing something mundane, like chopping up vegetables for dinner, and she would cry—softly, tears that were barely there. Tears that Satoshi would have missed if he blinked. He didn't like it when his mom cried, a deep sadness curling around like mist. It made him want to cry, too.

It'd snowed last night.

Yoichi drove him to school, car tyres rolling across dirty snow.

"You gonna be okay, kiddo?" Yoichi asked him on the way there, concerned.

"I'll be fine," Satoshi ground out. There were dark rings under his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept well.

Yoichi sighed. "You... need to stop playing so many video games before you sleep, okay?"

"It's not just the video games this time."

His father gazed straight ahead. "I'm sorry, Satoshi."

_Please don't apologize, dad. It just makes everything worse. We shouldn't have anything to be sorry for._ Satoshi didn't say anything, and they finished the car ride in hanging silence.

"We're here," Yoichi announced as he pulled up in front of the school gates, car stopping behind another parent's. He peered around the head rest, smiling tiredly. "Have a good day, okay, sport?"

Satoshi grunted, hauling his backpack over one shoulder and getting out from the backseat. He was met with a wintry chill that had him shuddering in his winter jacket. Not looking back, he trudged down the pathway to the building. _At least winter vacation is coming up soon..._

His gut clenched. Winter vacation. He always spent those with Hajime, snowball fighting in the backyard and sledding at the park. Now, Satoshi would have to spend the next one by himself. And the next, and the next...

Something hit him in the back of the head. A snowball. Satoshi cried out, stumbling forward. "What the—?!" He whipped around, glaring. "Who...?"

"Sorry," a boy laughed nearby, malice glinting in his eyes as he exchanged glances with his two friends. "Didn't see you there. Right, guys?"

More laughter.

_Did they do that on purpose?_ Unease filling him, Satoshi brushed the snow off the back of his red beanie and hurried inside. _Why would they do that to me?_ He recognized those boys. They were in the same grade as him but they had never talked before. _Guess I was just an opportunity, then... Why else would they do that?_ But it had seemed so planned, so methodical. Like it had been _meant_ for him.

Satoshi stopped by the bathroom first, some of the snow having fallen down the back of his shirt. Cursing a storm under his breath, he took off his jacket and shook it out. As he did, he caught sight of himself in the mirror, blinking at how awful he looked. He'd always had dark circles around his eyes from his video gaming hobby, but his face had never seemed so... gaunt before.

He was like a smaller, weaker version of Hajime. Whereas Hajime's coarse hair was spiked up like hedgehog quills, Satoshi's black hair flopped a little over his eyes, softer and stringier. Hajime was tall, muscular and bulky and Satoshi was lean and little. Huffing, Satoshi jammed his beanie on his head, shrugged his jacket on, and went to class.

Nobody greeted him when he stepped inside, which was not unusual. It was embarrassing to admit, but Satoshi didn't really have friends at school. He had plenty of online ones, but in real life only a group of boys that occasionally let him hang out with them. One of the boys—Hideki—waved weakly at him, a gesture which Satoshi returned as he made a beeline for his desk.

The bell rang, and class proceeded as per usual.

At lunchtime, Satoshi got up from his seat to sit with his group of quasi-friends. The other boys had all bunched their tables together so they would be closer.

"Hey, Satoshi." Hideki was the only one who bothered to greet him.

Satoshi summoned a smile which he hoped was friendly. "Hey."

The boys—Kinji, Naruki, Tomonaga, and Hideki—made conversation as they ate. Sometimes, Satoshi would chime in, but it wasn't often. There was something of a barrier between them—they were friends, Satoshi supposed, but not the kind that would hang out after school together. Hideki was the nicest. He was the only one who bothered including Satoshi whenever the latter was out of the loop.

Satoshi chewed his sandwich—he'd made it himself; his mother hadn't been in any condition to make him lunch—slowly. _Ugh. I hate being the third wheel._

Then the conversation took an unexpected turn. Or maybe Satoshi should have expected it sooner or later, he wasn't sure.

"Did you hear?" Naruki said, eyes wide. "The guy who killed Oikawa Tooru got a guilty verdict. They sent him to prison."

"Everyone's heard of that by now," Kinji snorted, rolling his eyes. "Keep up with the times, Naru."

"It just shows you can't trust anyone," Tomonaga added, adding a spooky tone to his voice. "Even your friends. They might be waiting to just pounce on ya!"

The cheap takeaway chopsticks bent slightly under Satoshi's tightening grip. "Hey, guys?"

They turned to him, paling, as if they'd forgotten he'd been sitting with them.

"Oh, uh," Hideki said first, "I'm sure they didn't mean anything by it... Sorry, Satoshi."

_Didn't mean anything by it? That's my brother you're talking about, you assholes!_ Satoshi glowered. "No, no. Don't stop on account of me. Keep going. I want to hear it all."

"God, will you lay off?" growled Kinji. "We were just kidding around. Don't be so sensitive. It's not our fault that your brother's a murderer."

_Murderer._

_Murderer._

_"Your brother's a murderer."_

Satoshi slammed his hands on the table, chopsticks breaking. The other boys flinched. "He's _not_ a murderer!" he yelled. "Hajime's innocent! He would never hurt anyone!"

Either foolhardy or courageous, Kinji was the first to recover. "Hey, hey! Why are you getting so pissed for? Just because _you_ tell us he's not a murderer doesn't make it true."

"And it makes it true when other people say he is?!"

"He went to court and was found guilty, it's pretty fucking obvious, Satoshi!" Kinji sneered. "Face it—your brother's a _murderer_."

And Satoshi pulled his arm back and punched him in the face.

* * *

What happened after he threw the first punch was a bit of a blur, but now he, Kinji, and their mothers were sitting in the faculty room. Kinji was holding an ice pack over one eye, sniffling. Satoshi hadn't been wounded, somehow. Or maybe he had been, and the adrenaline still pumping in his veins was preventing him from feeling any of the damage.

Their homeroom teacher had torn them apart from each other, both of them kicking and howling.

Satoshi's only regret over his actions was that it had led to his mother dragging herself painfully out of the house and driving through the dreary winter. His father must have been out, seeing as she had received the phone call.

And Kinji's mother...

"I want him expelled!" Yuzuki Sara screeched.

_She's so loud_. Satoshi wanted to cover his ears.

"Now, now," said their homeroom teacher, Urano. "Please calm down, Yuzuki-san."

"I'm very sorry for his actions," Futaba added, wearily glancing between Urano and Yuzuki. "It won't happen again."

"That's all very well and good," Urano said, "But I must get to the bottom of this incident. What exactly led to these boys fighting."

"He just punched me!" wailed Kinji, playing the victim card with such skill and speed that Satoshi was almost impressed. "Me and my friends were just talking and he punched me!"

"He's a psycho!" Yuzuki yelped, palming her cheeks in horror. "Just like his brother!"

Beside him, Satoshi could feel his mother tense up, and maybe he should have thought twice before exploding. " _My brother is not a psycho!_ "

"Everyone, please!" Urano's voice carried above theirs. "Let's all discuss this civilly. No accusations or any of the like, shall we?"

Yuzuki harrumphed, folding her arm over her great breasts. "I just want justice to be served for my poor Kinji-kun."

"Then let us hear both sides of the story. Satoshi-kun, why don't you explain what happened?"

Satoshi took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "We were having lunch. Then Kinji and the others started talking about... They started talking about my brother." On his lap, his hands clenched into fists. "And Kinji," he grit his teeth, "Kinji called him a _murderer_."

"And then you hit him?" Urano ventured.

Defiantly, Satoshi lifted his head and drew himself to his full height in his chair. "Yes. I did."

"He admitted it!" Yuzuki pointed at him, practically frothing at the mouth for her justice. "He hit my son! I thought Kitagawa Daiichi was supposed to have a zero tolerance policy on school violence!" She pointed again, this time at Urano. "If he is not suitably punished, then this school will no longer be receiving a _cent_ from me!"

"Yuzuki-san," Urano entwined his fingers on his desk, "I assure you that Satoshi-kun will be suitably punished. If you would like, we can take this the principal. If not, I will now speak to Iwaizumi-san and her son to decide punishment."

"I suppose," Yuzuki relented, standing. "Come, Kinji! I'm taking you to the doctor's."

The faculty room went eerily quiet once Yuzuki and Kinji were gone. Satoshi fiddled with fingernails, picking at them. _Will I be expelled? Whatever. Gives me more time to play video games..._

"Satoshi-kun will be suspended for two weeks," Urano decided, breaking the silence. "It is utterly unacceptable to attack a fellow student, and I hope you will discipline him at home, Iwaizumi-san."

Futaba bowed her head to him. "Of course. I am very sorry for his behavior. He will be punished at home—I won't allow him to treat his suspension like a vacation."

"Good. That brings me to another issue..." Urano sighed deeply, massaging one temple. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day—would it be okay if I spoke a little less formally?"

"Of course, Urano-sensei."

"Thank you, Iwaizumi-san. I apologize for my bluntness. Satoshi-kun—the next time they try to get a rise out of you, ignore it."

Satoshi did a double-take as if he had been slapped. "What?" _How am I supposed to ignore it?! I...! I don't understand..._ "Sensei, what are you...?"

Futaba grabbed his hand, resolute. "Listen to your teacher."

"Yes. I mean it, Satoshi-kun. The best course to take in such a situation is to ignore it. They'll soon get bored." Urano took off his glasses, sighing again. "Whether or not your brother is innocent... Is irrelevant. The more you insist on his innocence, the more ammunition they will have. I will tell them to leave you alone. This is a delicate situation, so just leave this to the adults, okay? Don't do anything on your own."

_Leave this... to the adults?_ Satoshi stared at him, blank. _You mean... the same adults that are telling me to be quiet? That threw my brother in prison? The adults don't care about us. If they did, Hajime wouldn't be...!_

"Please, Satoshi," Futaba whispered. "Listen to the adults."

_Is that what being an adult means? Sweeping everything under the rug and calling it a day?_ Satoshi continued to stare, overwhelmed by disbelief. He wanted to _laugh_. But then they'd think he was insane— _"He's a psycho! Just like his brother!"_ —and he wasn't sure if he would be able to stop himself from breaking down after that. "Okay," he said, empty lies pouring from his mouth. "But I don't get it."

Urano raised a brow. "What don't you get?"

Satoshi's frame trembled, righteous anger surging through him. "I don't get it!"

"Satoshi—"

"No, mom! Why do I have to just let them treat me like... like _shit_?! Why doesn't anyone believe me? Hajime didn't—!" Satoshi choked on his next words, something hot and heady building up behind his eyes. _Shit... Shit, don't cry! I can't cry now!_ "Why aren't I allowed to say anything about it? _Why are you telling me to roll over and die?_ "

Another sigh from Urano. "I'm sorry, Satoshi-kun, but this what's best for you."

"What's best for the school!" blurted Satoshi, leaning forward. "Kinji's mother is a huge benefactor, and you're just covering your own asses!"

"Satoshi, that's enough!" cried Futaba, standing and pulling her son away from Urano. Frantically, she bowed to Urano. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'll talk to his father."

Urano put his glasses back on. "Please do, Iwaizumi-san. I'll see you next time."

* * *

**December 15th, 2012**

The vandalism started a few days after Satoshi's suspension. Satoshi was playing a video game in his room when he heard a loud crash outside. Alerted, he paused it and padded out to the front yard. "Mom?"

Futaba didn't seem to hear him. There was a gooey mess at her feet from where she had dropped her bag of groceries—the bottle of oyster sauce had shattered in the bag, mixing with egg yolk and milk.

"Mom?" Satoshi stepped around the mess, feet cold against the concrete. "What are you looking at...?" He gaped at the graffiti that had appeared on the side of their house in the hour that Futaba had been gone.

**FUCKING MURDERERS**

**DIE**

**HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACES IN PUBLIC**

**PSYCHOPATHIC PIGS**

"A-ah..." Futaba began to cry, shock etched on her gentle features. "Oh my god, oh my god..."

And Satoshi—

He was _furious_.

"How dare they!" he hissed. "How could they do this...!" The more he looked at it, the more his fury ebbed away, replaced—slowly—by _fear_. These people, whoever they were, knew where they lived. Who was to say that they wouldn't go any further than this? Yoichi was at work most of the day. Futaba couldn't throw a punch to save her life, and Satoshi... _I'm weak._ Gnawing on his bottom lip, Satoshi hugged himself and shivered, telling himself that it was from the December cold. "Mom, we have to call..." _The police. Hah! The police._ Satoshi hated to rely on them. "Call dad. He'll know what to do." The police, who had betrayed their family along with the lawmakers, would be the last resort.

Futaba did just that. "Hello? Yoichi! Yoichi, please, I... Can you come home for a little bit? I..."

Satoshi held out a hand. "I'll talk to him, mom." She passed it to him, nodding. "Hello, dad?"

_"Satoshi? What's going on?"_

"Our house..." Satoshi glanced at the graffiti, gaze hardening. "It's been vandalized. Someone spray-painted over the side of it. Mom's kinda freaking out. Do you think you can get away from work?"

_"I see."_ His father sounded appropriately grim. _"I'll speak to my boss, hold on."_ He hung up.

"Dad's on it," Satoshi told Futaba, closing her flip phone. "Um... We should probably take some pictures, too. If... If the _police_ need it."

After taking pictures of the graffiti, Satoshi helped his mother clean up the mess she had made at their porch. Then he herded her inside, closing the front door behind them and locking it securely. As his mother rest in the kitchen, trying to recover from the shocking discovery, Satoshi secured the house, locking all the windows and closing the curtains.

His father arrived back home half an hour later. To Satoshi's dismay, Yoichi decided it was best for them to file a police report.

Not much happened, though.

"Right, well," said one of the officers sitting at their dining table when Satoshi passed through to get a snack from the kitchen. "There's not much we can do about this, but we'll keep an eye out for these troublemakers. For now, I suggest you and your family lay low and try not to upset anyone further."

Satoshi narrowed his eyes as he reached into the cabinet for a bag of chips. _'Upset anyone further'_. None of this— _none_ of it—sat right with him. Just hearing those words had him recoiling in sheer indignation. _Why is everything our fault? What did we do? Why do we have to take the blame? Shouldn't you at least investigate a little more? Fucking cops._

Yoichi, who the pair of officers had been speaking to, set his jaw. "Thank you for your time, officers," he replied, evenly.

When the officers had marched out, Satoshi peered around the door frame. "Dad?"

"Hm?" Yoichi turned. "Ah, Satoshi... Did you hear all that?"

Satoshi nodded, fully entering the room. "It's not our fault, right?"

There was something sorrowful to Yoichi's smile. "No, sport," he ruffled Satoshi's hair, "Of course it's not. Between you and me," he added, "Those guys have no idea what they're doing."

For the first time in weeks, Satoshi chuckled. "Yeah." It was nice of his father to distract him like this—distract him from the fact that no, it wasn't because the police were totally incompetent, it was because they didn't see their family worth properly assisting.

"Don't worry, Satoshi." Yoichi's hand fell to his side. "I'm sure everything will work itself out. They always do."

Satoshi wanted so badly to believe him. And for a few days, he did.

Then, one night, their car exploded in flames.

* * *

**January 2nd, 2013**

Their parents didn't fight a lot, but when they did, it got heated.

Sometimes, when mom and dad fought especially bad, Hajime would cup his hands over Satoshi's ears. His calloused palms alone were not able to block out all of the sound, but the heat from his hands would make Satoshi feel more at ease.

"Is it over yet?" Satoshi would ask as he huddled in his brother's blankets.

"Not yet," Hajime would say, grinning in the face of adversity. "But don't worry, they'll make up soon."

And Hajime was always right—in the end, the thrashing seas would always become calm waters as they reached the shores of understanding and compassion. The waves that rocked their tiny boat would always smooth out.

Their voices pierced through the thin walls of their house. Satoshi had wrapped himself in his blankets, the whimsical background music of his favorite Tokémon games blaring through his earphones—loud enough to make his head pound but not enough to drown out the shouting.

"He's our _son_!"

"For god's sake, Yoichi, what if really did kill someone?! What does that make us?! We _raised_ him! We raised a _monster_!"

"The only monster I'm seeing right now is _you_!"

_Please..._ Satoshi squeezed his eyes shut, drawing the covers over his head. _Shut up, please... Shut up._

"How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you!"

"You're abandoning our son!"

"I'm not abandoning anyone! Satoshi needs to—"

_"HAJIME IS ALSO OUR SON!"_

Satoshi had no tears left to cry. They had all dried on his cheeks and around his eyes. _I'm so tired._ He'd been sleeping more than usual lately, but he was still so, so _tired_. Was his mom trying to forget Hajime existed? _How can she do that?_ But why wouldn't she? Why wouldn't she pick the only way she knew how to move on? His mother was caring and kind, but her heart was small—there wasn't enough room in there to carry the hurt.

He turned in his bed, earphones coming out during the motion. Satoshi didn't put them back in, just gazed at the window. From his position, he couldn't see very far out of it—could only really register the gray sunlight. Around this time, he would normally be playing Vario Cart with Hajime, and their mother would announce dinner an hour from now.

The smell of delicious, home-cooked food would have wafted through the gap between his bedroom door and the floor, and he and Hajime would have taken turns guessing what she had cooked.

"Agedashi tofu," Hajime would have begged the heavens, scowling when he lost to Satoshi for the umpteenth time.

"Nasu dengaku!" Satoshi would have declared in return, smirking when he crossed the finish line (Hajime would still be stuck on the second lap and driving in reverse. He was an idiot when it came to games).

_I'm hungry..._

He wanted to eat his mother's cooking.

He wanted to fight over the TV remote with his father.

He wanted to hang out with Hajime—nag him to help him with his homework or else his teacher would fail him, complain about his obsession with volleyball, dig for dirt about any of the teachers at Kitagawa.

Maybe once, he could have just walked into the house and expected all of those things.

The house was still here, but now—

_It doesn't feel like home anymore._

* * *

**January, 2013**

On the fifth, his mother had an emotional breakdown.

On the twenty-eighth, they finalized their papers and sold the house.

On the thirtieth, they drove from Miyagi to Akita and never looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Surprise mfs, it's an OC backstory but dw it'll only be 2 chapters long i promise which is sad for me because Satoshi's backstory is legit my favorite part of the entire story; it will also join up with the main story (like literally every other backstory) so i'm including it
> 
> After this, it's... THE TRIAL CHAPTERS... AND THEN THE EPILOGUE(S)... So yes, we're getting close to the end. I estimate this will end around 300k words, but don't take that too seriously because my estimates are always like... 99.9% totally wrong.
> 
> I know at least one of you was anticipating a Noriko backstory/explanation, but nope. All that kinda happens off-screen, but will be recalled during the trial.
> 
> Picture of [Iwaizumi Satoshi](https://imgur.com/n3xF4iy) as a teenager


	52. A Shadow's Tale (2)

_Leaf, blossom or bole  
Life is not simply its parts  
But I would not know_

** "Still a Shadow" ** **, haiku by Iwaizumi Satoshi, Kosaka High School, Class 3-3, 03/10/18**

* * *

**April 5th, 2016**

Kosaka, a small town in the rural district of Kazuno, Akita, had an estimated population of around five-thousand and seven-hundred people. As a result, Sunano Mina recognized most of the students in her high school and they recognized her.

"Mina-chan!"

Mina tore her gaze away from the announcement board to see her neighbor, Tomie, running up to her from down the hall. "Tomie-chan!" Tomie hugged her tightly. She was a chubby girl with the sweetest smile. "Oh! Did you get a haircut?"

"I did!" Tomie drew back from her, beaming. "You noticed?"

"Of course! You look so pretty now."

"Yeah! Maybe those mean old boys will stop calling me 'Bean-paste' now..."

"Aw, Tomie-chan..." Boys could be such _jerks_. Mina didn't make friends with boys, especially those that treated Tomie badly. _Well, at least mom and dad don't have to worry about me dating anyone. Boys stink._

"We're not in the same class," Tomie bemoaned, snapping her out of her internal tirade against the male population. "I'm in 1-2 and you're in 1-4."

Most high schools went up to _six_ or _seven_ in their class numbers, but Kosaka High only went up to four—there was no ranking, either; all classes were split up evenly without any regard for academic skill. "Oh well," Mina patted her back, "I can still come over to your classroom at lunchtime."

Tomie giggled. "That's true! And I'll over to yours, too."

The first day of school was always one of the most exciting, and today was no different. Because after the beginning of the year school assembly, they split up into their classes, and Mina's class happened to have a new face.

_Whoa. A new student?_ Her purple eyes widened when her homeroom teacher led an unfamiliar boy into the classroom and had him stand at the front. He looked rather... unkempt. His white uniform shirt wasn't tucked into his pants and his tie was sloppily done. Mina glanced down at her own tie, neat as a pin and—unfortunately—flat against her chest.

"Everyone," the teacher addressed. "We have a new student joining us today. His family just moved from Katagami to Kosaka."

_A city boy?_ That was even more interesting.

Her new classmate was staring blankly at some of the posters on the back wall, quite disinterested with his surroundings and his fellow students.

"Please," the teacher prompted, "Introduce yourself."

The boy finally snapped to attention. "Oh. My name's Iwaizumi Satoshi. I like video games and physics. Uh... Please look after me, I guess."

"Thank you, Iwaizumi-kun. Please take a seat behind Sunano Mina-chan. Sunano-chan, please raise your hand."

Mina did, allowing for Satoshi to have an indicator of who she was and where he would be sitting. She had scored a seat next to the window in the second last row—Satoshi would be stuck in the shadows of the back right corner of the room, where the dusty curtain would brush against his arm.

The teacher took the roll as Satoshi got settled in his seat. Knowing that math was the first class of the day, Mina got her workbook out and began to write the time and date on the corner of the page.

Their teacher was calling the last name on the list when Mina felt something poke her shoulder— _hard_. Bemused, she turned around to see Satoshi holding a pencil, the back end of it pointed toward her. "Yes...?"

"Do you have a pen?" Satoshi asked, straightforwardly.

"Ah, yes... Would you like to borrow one?"

"Mmhm."

Mina forced a smile before handing him her cheapest pen—one that was almost out of ink. "Don't lose it, please."

"Yeah, yeah."

_Gosh! Are all city boys like this?_ Her good mood dissipating, Mina turned to face the front again. The math lesson was starting. _He's so rude. No manners at all. Ugh. Why did this guy have to be in my class? I wish Tomie-chan were here with me..._

She resolved to not talk to him as much as she could.

And for their first year of high school together, it worked.

* * *

**June, 2017**

His first year passed rather uneventfully. Kosaka was a big change from Katagami—the city that his family had moved to after leaving Sendai—but Satoshi was starting to get used to it. There weren't many places to go here, and Satoshi had already established some regular haunts.

It was in one of his haunts—a run-down gym—that someone threw a towel at his face.

Satoshi spluttered, pulling it off before glaring at the culprit—the gym owner, Iwabuchi.

"It's gettin' late, kid," Iwabuchi gruffed, sucking on the toothpick between his teeth. "Your parents are gonna come knocking."

"Tch. Whatever. It's not like they know I come here." Satoshi aimed a punch at the sandbag, feeling it crumple satisfyingly beneath his gloved fist. Boxing. He'd been doing it since his third year of middle school, when his father had insisted on him taking up a sport instead of staying indoors gaming all the time. But he had quit his club before his family moved out of Katagami, and as far as they knew, he was done with it.

"Kid." Iwabuchi deadpanned. "Don't worry your mom and dad like this."

Satoshi gritted his teeth, bouncing back and forth on his toes before giving the punching bag a few jabs. "It's _fine_."

"You really wanna do this with me? Fine." Iwabuchi spat out his toothpick. "Get your skinny ass in the ring. I'll give your parents somethin' to worry about, then."

"You sure, old man?" Satoshi climbed into the ring, sword-slash grin on his lips. "I've gotten better, y'know."

"We'll see."

The outcome was expected. Iwabuchi mopped the floor with him, and Satoshi didn't have it in him to feel the least bit humiliated at his defeat. As he cradled the side of his face on the floor, Iwabuchi undid the straps of his gloves, letting them drop. Then he held out a scarred hand to Satoshi.

"Come on, kid."

Satoshi scoffed, but took it anyway. "Even after all this time, I still can't land a good hit on you."

"Yeah, yeah, keep yappin'. Go home, Satoshi. I mean it. You can come back next time. It's not like there's much to do around here, anyway."

"Hah! That's true."

For the first time tonight, Satoshi obeyed Iwabuchi's orders. He got himself cleaned up, hauled his sports bag over his shoulder, and left the gym. Not to go home, though—he needed to ice his cheek before he did that. As he walked down the dimly lit streets of Kosaka, heading for the convenience store nearby the school, he fiddled with his wallet, checking how much money he had.

_Let's see... I should have enough for an ice pack. If not, I can ask the cashier for some ice and a paper towel. Maybe I'll get myself an energy drink, too._

The cashier was one of the old third years who had graduated last year. They wasted no time on formalities, Satoshi grabbing what he needed and the cashier scanning and bagging them.

"Have a nice night," the minimum wage worker droned.

Satoshi sat down on a bench outside the store, setting his energy drink down beside him and holding the ice pack to his aching cheek. _Fuck. That Iwabuchi sure hits hard. Stupid old man..._ Sullen, he glared at the night sky. It was too beautiful tonight. It was perfectly humid and perfectly warm, especially for mid-June. He had school tomorrow morning, but it didn't really matter. He didn't really attend much of school, anyway. Most of his days were spent at the internet cafe or at Iwabuchi's gym. Sometimes, he would just wander around town, following roads he already knew like the back of his hand.

_Hajime would've liked this place._ The cold of the ice pack was sharp against his skin. It'd been two years. More than that. If he were stronger, maybe he would've been able to forget him, would've been able to let him go. But he couldn't. Satoshi couldn't even best old Iwabuchi—who was more than thrice his age—in a fight. He was weak. He'd always relied too much on Hajime for everything.

It was lonely out here, by himself. Such a perfect night—wasted.

He popped open his energy drink, chugging half of it in one gulp.

His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since lunch. Grimacing, Satoshi opened up his wallet, finding nothing but lint inside where cash had once been. There was likely food waiting at home, but he wasn't sure if he could drag himself up the hill without collapsing in sheer exhaustion. _I should've have nagged Iwabuchi for a snack, goddammit._ Or maybe not. God knew that all Iwabuchi survived on was cigarettes and coffee. Somehow. Satoshi doubted he even had food in his fridge.

"Satoshi-kun?"

Satoshi let his head fall back, blinking at the upside-down image of a black-haired girl staring at him. She had a single clip partially holding her bangs back. _Eh? Purple eyes? Are those real or contacts? Where have I seen her before?_ She went to his school, probably. "Who's asking?"

"Wh—! I'm Sunano Mina!"

"Oh."

Mina scowled. She had a canvas bag slung around one shoulder—probably returning home from tuition. "You seriously don't remember me?"

"No? Should I?"

"I sat in front of you during our first year! And I'm in your class this year, too!"

Satoshi hummed, trying to recall her fox-like features. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell. Sorry."

"You are such a—" Mina cut herself off, sighing. "Forget it. I guess I didn't really talk much to you back then. Sorry. What are you doing out here by yourself? Wait, is that an ice pack?! Are you hurt?"

"Calm down." Satoshi sat upright again, angling his body slightly so that he could see her properly. Now that she wasn't upside down, he noted that she was actually quite beautiful. "This is nothing. Just a training hazard."

Mina took a seat next to him, worrying her bottom lip. "It looks pretty bad, though."

Irritably, Satoshi waved her off her concern. "I said it's nothing. It doesn't hurt that much."

"Alright. But you never answered my question. What are you doing here by yourself?"

Satoshi deadpanned at her. "I thought that much would be obvious." He was licking his wounds— _clearly_.

"I meant what were you doing before this...? Ah, sorry if I'm being nosy. You don't have to answer that." So Satoshi didn't. The silence dragged, the only sound Satoshi taking sips of what was left of his energy drink. And perhaps it would have ended in Mina leaving him alone for good if his stomach hadn't snarled with a vengeance. "Oh. You're hungry?"

Cheeks flushing, Satoshi hugged his bag against his torso. "No," he lied.

"Stay here," Mina stood, "I'll go get you something."

"Hey, wait—!" But he was too late. She had already entered the convenience store. Satoshi sighed, leaning back against the bench. _Nosy girl..._ Contrary to what Mina probably believed, Satoshi did remember her. Not immediately, but halfway through the interaction, he managed to remember. _Sunano Mina. Kosaka High's local pretty girl._ Needless to say, their paths didn't cross much, if at all. Mina was on the Student Council, a top scorer in exams, and an active member of the school community—Satoshi... simply wasn't. He skived off whenever he wanted and the only subject he wasn't currently failing or on the verge of failing was physics.

Mina came back with a bottle of water— _not even flavored_ , Satoshi thought with a click of his tongue—and a bowl-sized cup of spicy instant ramen. "Here." She thrust the bottle to him, holding the cup of steaming ramen with greater care. "This should hold you until you get home."

Deciding to probe her responses, he loudly complained, "Geez, couldn't you buy a better flavor? And this water isn't even flavored." As the cherry on top, he all but snatched the bowl of ramen from her. It wasn't all an act, though—he was _starving_.

She glowered at him as she sat down. "You could be a little more grateful, punk! I'm not exactly rolling in money." She huffed, turning her nose up at him. "Besides, you can't subsist on energy drinks and soda."

"Watch me."

"Drink the water, Satoshi-kun."

Satoshi snapped the takeaway chopsticks in two. "Thanks for the food," he muttered, slurping the noodles. Soup splattered on his shirt. "You didn't have to do this, you know. It's not like I asked you to buy me food..."

"If you saw a burglar breaking into your neighbor's house, you would call the police right?" Mina retorted. "This is just like that. It's called human decency, Satoshi-kun."

Wisely, Satoshi refrained from telling her that he would rather eat shit than rely on the cops. "I'd probably alert my neighbor first."

"What if they're tied up and gagged?"

"I'll go beat up the robber."

"And if they're stronger than you?"

"I'll bring a weapon."

Mina raised a brow. "You know that was just an analogy, right? Not meant to be taken literally."

"Mmrph," Satoshi said through a mouthful of ramen.

Mina didn't say anything more after that, though she kept him company. She was a strange little creature. Didn't she find him annoying? Ungrateful? Incorrigible? Making sure she wouldn't notice, Satoshi occasionally sneaked a few glances at her. _What a weird girl._ "Hey."

She turned to him. "Hm?"

"Why are you still here? I'm not gonna pay you back, you know."

"I know that!" Mina stared at him, exasperated. "I'm not sticking around for the _money_. I just thought..." She dodged his gaze. "You might want some company. Isn't it boring, eating alone?"

_Boring? Yeah, I guess it's boring._ He wasn't sure eating alone was the problem, though. Everything was boring without Hajime around. Hajime, who was doing his sentence in a prison somewhere in Tokyo right now... Suddenly, Satoshi no longer felt hungry. He finished the rest of his soup and only drank a bit of the water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's getting late, isn't it? You should go home before your parents worry." _God, I sound like Iwabuchi now._

"I will. What about _your_ parents?"

"I..." His mom badgered him a lot about his schoolwork and missing dinner, but she never really _did_ anything. She'd never been very good at enforcing rules—she'd been lucky that Hajime had been such an obedient son. And like before they had moved, Yoichi didn't come home until late a lot of the time due to work. "They don't worry about me a lot. I can stay out as long as I want."

"Well, okay. But still. I'm sure deep down, they're worried."

Guilt pricked at his heart, but he tried to shove it away. "Right. Where do you live? I'll walk you home."

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"No, really. It's dark out already. It could be dangerous."

Mina stifled a smile. "If you insist."

* * *

**September 12th, 2017**

Iwaizumi Satoshi wasn't so bad, Mina would find herself thinking sometimes. Then immediately turn over that thought because _Iwaizumi Satoshi was an insufferable man-child_.

_Satoshi!_ she cursed in her head as she clapped dust from the chalkboard erasers. _You jerk! We're supposed to be doing this together!_ It was just her luck, to have been partnered up with Satoshi for cleaning duty at the beginning of this semester. Mina growled under her breath, putting the erasers back to their place and whipping out her phone.

**[Mina]:** Where are you?!

**[Satoshi]:** Usual

Her eye twitched. She hated his one-word responses! _The 'usual'... He's either at Iwabuchi Fitness or the PC cafe._ Both locations were a similar distance away from the high school, so it was fifty-fifty. Mina typed back a response.

**[Mina]:** Get back to class. Now. I am NOT doing clean-up by myself again.

He read it.

She waited for him to reply, but he never did.

**[Mina]:** I know you read my message!

Still no response, but, again, he had read it.

**[Mina]:** Satoshi!!

_Forget the -kun! That's way too cute for him! He's a total monster, leaving me out to dry like this!_ Gnashing her teeth, Mina watched the three dots bouncing up and down on her screen, wondering what sort of bullshit excuse he had prepared for her.

The dots disappeared, and there was no reply to be seen.

"That's it," Mina said aloud, fingers tapping.

**[Mina]:** I'm coming down

**[Satoshi]:** Can you just let me finish a round

"A round? A round?! You want to finish a _round_?! Ooh, you little brat!"

**[Mina]:** No.

**[Satoshi]:** This is a ranked game

PC cafe it was, then. Feeling quite resentful toward him today, Mina aimed low.

**[Mina]:** So are our marks, #154 -.-

**[Satoshi]:** ...

Maybe another day Mina would have pitied him for being on the receiving end of her barbed tongue, but today she was on a warpath.

**[Mina]:** Expect me in 5.

Mina wasted no time tidying herself up. She marched out of the classroom, almost knocking over the broom, and to the PC cafe downtown. It was a short walk—just a little over five minutes.

"Hey!" she cried as she stormed into the cafe, garnering the attention of a few young adults who were busy gaming but not the attention of the one she needed right now. Satoshi was sitting in the back corner, tongue sticking from between his lips as he mashed the keyboard with one hand and clicked the mouse with the other. "I said hey! Satoshi!" Even when she was right next to him, he didn't acknowledge her. "Satoshi, stop ignoring me, you little—"

"Shit, I died!" Satoshi swore, glaring daggers at the glowing screen. Then he looked up. "Oh, hey."

"Don't 'hey' me, mister."

"Weren't you the one hey-ing at me five seconds ago?"

"So you _did_ hear me."

"I'd have to be deaf not to."

Mina's fingers twitched. Oh, the urge was so bad right now. The urge to slap the smug indifference of his face was so, so bad—

"Who the _fuck_ is making so much noise?" a rough voice demanded.

She balked when three boys swaggered their way up to them. _Shit, it's them..._ Three boys in the same year as Mina and Satoshi, only they were pretty much full-time delinquents. Mina grimaced, unsure of how to answer.

"Oh." Satoshi didn't seem affected by their presence. "It's you guys."

"You _know_ them?" Mina hissed, breaking her silence.

The leader of the group leered at her. "Oh, so it was you screeching. You're pretty, aren'tcha? I guess I'll let you off the hook this time."

Mina gulped. "Um... Thanks... Satoshi, let's go."

"Uh huh." Satoshi yawned, letting her lead the way out. "That was a good game," he said once they were outside. "Too bad you ruined my concentration."

"Whatever, jerk," Mina growled. "You're coming back with me so we can clean the _goddamn classroom together_."

"Sure, sure. I'm gonna go get a soda before we go, though. I'll be right back."

"Fine—just be quick."

Mina played a mindless game on her phone as she waited for Satoshi to return, leaning against the side of the PC cafe. Just as her character died on the screen, raucous laughter reached her ears. She tensed, pressing flat against the wall so they wouldn't see her. _It's those guys._

"Holy fuck," she heard one of them say. "That bitch was hot. Why does lameass Satoshi get to pound her? He's a fucking twig."

"Feh! You're always thinking with your dick, dude. Her name's Sunano Mina. She goes to our school, and she's a pissy little priss."

"Oh, come on, man. Did you see how short her skirt is? She's a total slut. I bet if I flatter her a little, she'll be all over me."

Mina blinked hot tears away, mortified by their remarks. Her skirt was short because it was a hand-me-down from her older sister! A sister who happened to be shorter than her! And even if it wasn't, what gave them the right to talk about her like that? Yet, she couldn't bring herself to defend herself. _Just let them go. It'd be worse if they knew I was here._ Boys really _were_ the worst.

"Hey, you guys." Satoshi's voice. Her gut clenched. Was he going to join in? Agree on how much of a bitch she was? All she did was nag him, anyway. He probably hated her, too. "You're talking about Mina, right?"

"That piece of ass? Yeah— _fuck!_ "

One of them screamed, and Mina peered around the building, eyes widening when she saw one of the boys clutching his eyes. Satoshi had thrown his drink at his face. _What the?_

"You fucking asshole!" Another boy threw a punch at him, but Satoshi swiftly dodged, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. "Ow ow ow! Stop it! Ah, fuck!" Satoshi kicked him to the ground, avoiding another jab from the third boy.

It was over in minutes. The three of them, even working together, were no match against him. Awed, Mina crept out from her hiding spot, staring at Satoshi. "You... Why?"

"Hm?" Satoshi looked over at her. "Oh... You heard all that, huh? Then you should know why. Plus, I've been wanting to beat them up for a long time. They're fucking annoying."

"That's assault," Mina said, weakly. "That is definitely assault."

"So? Geez, didn't you hear the things those shitheads said about you?"

She blushed, the embarrassment washing over her again. "I know! But you'll get in trouble."

"Again—so?"

"How is it worth it? They're just low-life assholes. If they report this, you might get into legal trouble."

"It's worth it because it's something I wanted to do. For you and for myself." Satoshi tossed the empty soda can at one of the groaning boys on the floor. "Come on," he took Mina by the hand, "We have a classroom to clean up, don't we?"

"I... Yes. Yes, we do."

Numb with shock, Mina didn't let go of Satoshi's hand. _Did that really just happen? I didn't think things like that actually happened in real life. Only in dramas._ Though it wasn't like she'd been swept off her feet or anything. Satoshi was still an annoying cleaning partner and nothing more. She shook her head, trying to get her bearings together.

"By the way," Satoshi said. "You owe me."

"What?!" squawked Mina. "Why?"

"I defended your honor."

"You _literally_ told me that you've been _wanting_ to beat them up. I was just a convenient excuse."

"Not true," he protested. "When I heard what they said, it pissed me off more than anything else."

"Well, okay. But! We're _even_."

"No we're not. Just because you bought me food once—"

"I meant," interrupted Mina, holding up a hand. "That we're even because although I have a duty to report this incident as an esteemed member of the Student Council, I am going to choose not to."

Satoshi gaped at her. "You're kidding me. _I'm_ not the bad guy here."

"Oh, I know. And I'm grateful to you. But I won't let you con me."

"You're slier than you look."

Mina grinned at him. "Good. Now that that's established... I suppose I could help you with your work a little... Number one-hundred and fifty-four."

He perked up, not even hearing the insult.

* * *

**May 4th, 2018**

"Hey, Satoshi?"

A grain of rice stuck on his upper lip, Satoshi turned to face her. "Mmrph?" His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk's as he chewed on his bonito rice ball.

Absently, Mina reached out to pluck it and flick it away. "What are you gonna do after school? I think I might try and go into pharmaceutical sciences."

The two of them were sitting on a low stone wall and watching some of their classmates play handball in the courtyard. Satoshi's lunch was a box full of rice balls from the convenience store and Mina's was homemade grilled chicken and rice that her step-mother had whipped up.

"Hah..." Satoshi combed through his messy hair with his fingers. "I dunno. Professional gamer?"

"Please pick a real job."

"Hey! Professional gamer _is_ a real job! The Asian e-sports league is _wild_. 'Sides," he scoffed, "I'm not exactly good at anything else."

"That's why you have to _study_ ," Mina said, primly. Daintily, she ate her chicken and rice, swallowing before continuing, "We're third years now. We can't afford to slack off. And, to be blunt, _you_ definitely have to step up your marks."

Satoshi sniffed. "I don't like studying. What's the point, anyway? I don't have anything I want to do."

Mina sighed. There was really no convincing him, was there? "You have to be a productive member of society," she tried one more time to reason, "But maybe you could look into other options? There are careers which don't necessarily require a tertiary education."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Satoshi bit into his rice ball.

"Like... Oh! A police officer is a good example."

Satoshi choked, coughing and hammering his chest with a fist.

"Oh my god! Here!" Mina's lunchbox nearly slid off her lap as she shoved her water bottle toward Satoshi. Snatching it from her, he chugged it like his life depended on it. "Are you okay?" she asked once he didn't seem to be actively dying anymore.

"Yeah," Satoshi wheezed.

"Slow down. If you eat too fast, you'll get indigestion. Or choke. Like you did just then."

"Mina, you want me to be a _cop_?"

She frowned. "Not necessarily. A cop was just the first job that came to mind. Well, one that you actually have baseline qualifications for, anyway."

"Uh huh. Not happening. Being a cop," Satoshi scowled deeply, "Would be the _worst_."

Mina cocked her head, perplexed by his vehemence. "Satoshi... Do you not like the police? Why? Is it because it's too dangerous? I didn't think you would care—"

"Of course I care!" he snapped. "But not because of that."

"Then what? Being a police officer is a perfectly good job. You get to protect the community and make people feel safe—"

Satoshi _cackled_. Mina wanted to say something against his dismissal, but she hesitated. Instead, she waited for him to explain himself. "Ah, is that what they do? Could've fooled me. Protecting the community... That's total _bullshit_. They're not heroes, Mina. Don't be so naive. Cops don't _really_ care about you. Or what happens to you. They're just doing their jobs so they can put food on the table. All that stuff about upholding justice? It's all lies. They're nothing but a bunch of self-important hypocrites."

Mina's hackles rose, but she kept calm. "You... really don't like cops, huh?"

"What gave that away?"

"Can you please stop talking to me like that? I don't like it." It made her feel stupid, and she _wasn't_. Naive, possibly, but she wasn't _stupid_.

Satoshi dropped his gaze, palming the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"Thank you. So," she picked up her chopsticks again, poking at her food, "Cops are trash, huh?"

"Mm."

Mina considered her next words carefully. "Is there any reason why you would say that? Did... Did you have a bad encounter with one?"

"I..." Something flashed in his eyes—grief?—and he shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It happened... a long time ago. But it just goes to show—it just goes to show that their system is rotten, just like society."

"I agree society could do better," Mina said. "And I don't know enough about the system to say anything, but I don't think all police officers are evil. I bet most of them join the force because they want to help the world."

"It doesn't matter whether they're evil or not. It's not like I hate every individual officer. As long as they're silent about all the shit that goes on behind the scenes—all the stuff that they never show you in the media—then they're complicit as far as I'm concerned. And they're not the only ones," it was here he looked at her with those eyes—pained in a way she would never understand, and her breath hitched, "When it comes to it, people in power will always try to squash you so they don't get their dirty dealings exposed. They just want you to _roll over and die_ so you don't bother them anymore. Because as far as they're concerned, you're nothing but an uncomfortable thorn in their side."

Not for the first time, Mina wondered what he had seen and experienced to make him so jaded. All her life, she had lived in the quiet town of Kosaka, a place where most people knew each other and supported one another. A quiet corner of this chaotic world, where she was free to live in peace. _What waits outside the corner, though? Who wronged you, Satoshi? Cops? Society? What is society, anyway? Just one section of society doesn't represent another section of it. You can't be affected by everything in society at once, can you? Society is like fragmented glass, and we all encounter different shards of it throughout our lives. Everyone's perception of society is different. So what have you seen?_

They resumed their lunch.

Mina did not bring it up again.

If he ever wanted to open up to her, he would. It wasn't her call to make.

* * *

**May 7th, 2018**

"Yeah, what's up?" Mina asked as she jogged up to Satoshi, who was waiting for her by the vending machines.

"Um..." Satoshi scratched his cheek. "I've been thinking about what you said..."

"Eh? What did I say?"

"Y'know. The careers stuff."

"Ah. Did Iwabuchi-san beat some sense into you?" Mina squinted at the bruise on his forehead, half-hidden by his bangs. "I kinda hate that old man, but at least he's good for _something_."

Satoshi muttered something rude under his breath before saying, "Either way, I think I'm gonna start studying a little more now. It's not like I'm a dumbass."

"You _are_ the number one in the grade for physics," Mina mused. "By some miracle." Physics was the only subject that he had her beat—that _anyone_ had her beat. "But if you want to get into any college—let alone a _decent_ one—you're gonna have to _bust_ your ass. You're in the bottom five of our grade. You do know that, right?"

"Wow, thanks for rubbing it in."

"Sorry. Anyway, I'll help you come up with a study plan this afternoon! What you need is a schedule and some discipline."

Satoshi groaned. "Fuck. Are you really doing this to me? Will I at least have time to game?"

Mina harrumphed, jutting out her chin. "Of course! I'm not a slave-driver. Besides, you need to maintain a healthy cycle of play and work." His eyes brightened like an excitable puppy's and she found herself blushing. "As I was saying!" _Stop it! He's not cute! He's an annoying little demon boy!_ "We'll eat lunch quickly and go to the library so we can start drafting your study schedule."

"Fine," he agreed.

Mina lied—she started drafting his plan as soon as her name had been called during homeroom and even consulted Tomie during lunch. By the time they met up at the library, she'd already figured it all out for him.

"Here." She slapped the paper that detailed his schedule in front of him, making him jump. "Meet your bible." Mina smirked as she took a seat beside him, leaning over his shoulder. "It's gonna be your salvation from all your study sins."

"Oh, great. So great. I am delighted."

She whacked his arm lightly. "Oh, stop that. Be grateful that I'm taking the time to help your sorry ass. Why the sudden change of attitude, anyway? Don't tell me Iwabuchi-san really turned your brain upside-down?"

" _No_."

"Then? Is it because of the cop stuff? Are you scared you'll end up a cop if you don't do well in school? Because that's not at all how it works—"

"I want to make him proud," Satoshi cut her off, pressing his lips together. "My brother."

Brother? Satoshi had a brother? Mina had never heard him mention a brother before. "That's awesome. Is he older or younger? If he's older, you can ask him to help you study."

Satoshi looked down. "Older. And... I can't do that."

"Why not?" Mina winced, immediately regretting her question. _What if he's dead? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, Satoshi._

"Because he's... Ah, shit." Satoshi glared, but his anger wasn't directed at Mina. "It's not your fault," he reassured her. "My brother... is in prison. For murder."

" _What_?"

"But he didn't do it," Satoshi added, hastily. "There's no way my brother would kill someone."

"I know this sounds bad, but... How do you know?"

"Because," he said simply, "He's my brother."

Oh.

_Oh._

For the first time since meeting him at the bench outside the convenience store, Mina finally felt like she understood him. "I believe you," she said. He blinked, clearly surprised by the conviction in her response. "I have a sister—an older one. So... I can relate. Kinda. If anyone ever accused her of murder, I think I'd strangle them. Especially," she swallowed a lump in her throat, "since my parents are divorced—I live with my dad and my step-mom—she's like my lifeline. I don't see her a lot either, since she's working in Tokyo, but I'll see her again soon, once I graduate."

There was the faintest smile on Satoshi's face. "You get it."

"I get it."

Their noses were almost touching. Mina hadn't even realized that they'd both been inching closer to each other. She scooted back a little, doing her best to ignore her flushing cheeks and praying that he would think nothing of them. "So you wanna make your brother proud, hm, kid?" Mina tapped a finger on the paper. "Then follow this. Look here—there's forty minutes for free time between here and here."

Satoshi hemmed and hawed. "That's nowhere near enough time to do anything."

"Are you joking? That's plenty of time!"

The rest of the afternoon was filled with bickering, but—in the end—Mina got him to accede to her study plan.

Mina held up her pinkie finger. "Promise me!"

"What?!"

"Promise me you'll take your studies seriously!"

"Seriously? This is dumb, I'm not doing this." He made to get up, but she pulled the hem of his shirt. "Oi!"

"Just promise me and I'll let you go in peace!"

"Ugh, fine." Satoshi caved, wrapping his pinkie around hers before letting go. "Happy?"

Mina beamed at him. "Quite."

* * *

**May 10th, 2018**

_Did he break his promise already?_ Mina suppressed a sigh, fiddling with her mechanical pencil as the teacher wrote notes on the board. _Maybe I expected too much of him._ She tried her best to concentrate on classwork, but her mind kept wandering.

Last night, her father—and her step-mom, she supposed—had received a devastating phone call from Tokyo. Rie had suffered a heart attack on the eighth, and was currently recuperating in hospital. She didn't know all the details yet—just that she had been placed in a dangerous situation and that it was thanks to a man named Kindaichi that she was safe.

This morning, she'd briefly scrolled through Japan's trending tags on Tweeter. A clip of Kindaichi being shot in the shoulder had been retweeted and shared hundreds of thousands of times.

_I hope Rie is okay,_ she thought, copying down the class notes. _And poor Kindaichi-san._ She couldn't even begin to imagine the pain of a bullet entering her body. _Maybe I can make him a gift?_ Mina was good at making key chains and small figurines out of clay. She would already be making Rie one to help her through her recovery. For now, though, she resumed her efforts to try and pay attention. Her good marks wouldn't be able to be maintained without proper diligence.

When lunchtime rolled around, Mina met Tomie by the school fountain, near the front gates. Tomie was content to eat her lunch—her boyfriend was practicing with his team today—while Mina made a few important phone calls.

"Mom? Dad?" Stress leaked into her tone. "Oh, mom! How's Rie? Is she okay?" _Please say she's okay!_

_"Everything's fine,"_ her mother—her real mother, who was currently in Tokyo with her sister and her father—answered. _"Rie will be discharged tomorrow afternoon."_

Mina could have cried. "Oh, thank _god_. I was so worried..."

_"What about you, Mina? Are you okay by yourself?"_

"I'm not by myself, mom. Tatsuko-san is looking after me." She wasn't close to her step-mother, but Mina liked Tatsuko well enough. She knew her mother was bitter toward her, though.

_"Right,"_ her mother bit out. _"Tatsuko-san."_

"Mom."

_"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Mina-chan."_

_I think mom has a hard time thinking that Tatsuko-san replaced her._ "Don't worry, mom," Mina hoped she could hear her smile, "You'll always be my number one."

It worked. There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. _"I love you, my daughter. I'll call again tonight."_

"Okay! Talk to you later."

She hung up, one of the weights on her shoulder lifting miraculously.

"I take it that it went well?" Tomie inquired.

"Yep! Rie is okay—mom and dad are with her, and she'll be discharged tomorrow."

"Oh! That's wonderful, Mina-chan!"

It was certainly was. Now there was only one person left who was occupying her mind... _Dammit, Satoshi. Where are you?_ Mina glanced hopefully toward the gates. There was no sign of him. She doubted that he would even show up at school today. _But you promised me you would start taking your studies seriously. Are you sick or something? Did you catch a cold?_ If he did, she would bike over to his house with chicken broth and rice.

She'd already called him a few times between classes, but he never answered.

Steeling herself, Mina tried one last time.

She gasped when he picked up. "Satoshi!"

_"Hey, Mina."_

"Are you okay? Where are you? Why aren't you at school?" She didn't mean to flood him with questions, but she couldn't help it.

_"Turn around."_

Mina spun on her heel, arm falling to her side—along with her phone—as she watched Satoshi approach the school gates. Not hearing what Tomie had to say about it, she dashed toward him, screeching to a halt in front of him. "Satoshi! You... Are you crying?" No, no he wasn't. But he had been. She could tell.

Satoshi didn't seem to be ashamed of it. He just rubbed at one eye. "They got him. _They got him_."

"Got _who_ , Satoshi?"

"The real killer."

Mina went slack-jawed. "Y-you mean..."

"My brother might go free."

She covered her mouth with her hands, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh my god! Oh my god!" she shrieked, doing a little jump. "Satoshi! Satoshi that—that's _fucking_ awesome!"

"I know!" he exploded, grinning so hard that Mina thought his face might split in half. " _God_ —Mina—I—!" He hugged her, crushing her nose against his lopsided tie. His shirt smelled like laundry detergent. "I don't even know what to say!"

Mina wriggled in his arms, peering up at him. He was so _happy_. She'd never seen him so _goddamn happy_ , and it made her stomach flutter. _I'm so glad. I'm so glad that he can finally smile like this._

* * *

**May 14th, 2018**

The high lasted for a few days before reality came crashing down.

**CONGLOMERATE** **HEAD HIRAKAWA DAIZEN RELEASES OFFICIAL STATEMENT REGARDING RECENT EVENTS**

**MURDERED HIGH SCHOOL BOY OIKAWA TOORU WAS KNOWN FOR HIS DANGER-SEEKING PERSONALITY...**

"This is total bull!" bellowed Satoshi, trembling in rage as he read the news article. He and Mina were on the way to school. " _Of-fucking-course_ they would pull something like this." _They're all the same... This corrupt, corrupt system... How deep does the rot run?_ He clenched his teeth. _These fucking_ cunts _._

"Don't," Mina soothed, gripping his arm. "It'll work out in the end. I hear that the prosecutors are taking this very seriously. Right now, we need to focus on next month's exams."

Right. He needed to make his brother proud. As soon as Hajime got out— _he had to_ —Satoshi would give him a bone-crushing hug, cry, and shove his marks into Hajime's face. "I know. If I wasn't serious about college before, I am now. The least I need to be when my brother gets out is someone he can be proud of."

"You know," Mina began. "I'm glad you're finally taking your studies seriously, but... You're already that person. Your brother would be proud of you, Satoshi, and that's a fact."

"You don't know that," Satoshi replied, frowning. "Even before he went to prison, he was always nagging me about playing too many video games. And I haven't changed a bit."

Mina shrugged. "In the greater scheme of things... I'm sure that he would be happy just to see you again and hold you tight. My sister, Rie, is a cafe worker, you know. Full-time in hospitality. Not what mom or dad imagined for her, but it doesn't matter to me. The reason why I want to be first in the grade is to guarantee myself a spot in Todai. So I can be close to her. Like I said— _it doesn't matter_."

"Huh. I see."

She stopped abruptly, grabbing him by the hands and looking up at him solemnly. "Hug him when you see him again. Hug him and don't let go."

"I won't," he vowed.

After this, he would _never_ let Hajime be torn from him again.

* * *

**May 21st, 2018**

It was out.

The hairs on the nape of Satoshi's neck rose as he read the news on his phone in the peace of his room, crickets chirping outside. _The trial date's been fixed._

_The thirty-first of May._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I shamelessly ship my two OCs and I have tons of SatoMina propaganda saved on my laptop. Anyway, next chapter will (re)introduce many characters as they all head to/remotely tune into the trial!
> 
> What was the purpose of this backstory? you may ask. To develop yet another 'side' to the story, as you may see the with some of the discussion Satoshi and Mina have. Also, because I wanted an excuse to write a cute little high school story in the midst of all the tragedy. Sorry if it's distracting, we'll be resuming the main programme right after this.
> 
> A picture of [Sunano Mina](https://imgur.com/ItmiUHI)


	53. Judge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The trial begins... People make their way to Tokyo or tune in remotely... Ennoshita loses his marbles

**May 31st, 2018**

Apprehension lined his frame as he stood in the full-body mirror, doing up his tie the way Mina had shown him during their second year. Mina had cut his hair—soft and downy, texture every bit unlike Hajime's—for the trial, and now he wore it slicked back, a single cowlick sticking up from his head. Satoshi wondered how tall Hajime was now—if he had gotten any taller at all. He remembered his brother being a behemoth of a man, but he'd been twelve and only a little over five feet back then. Now, he was six foot two. Had he managed to outgrow Hajime?

He gulped, that suffocating apprehension sucking all the air out of his lungs. Satoshi made to loosen his tie, but stopped. _Get a grip,_ he coached himself. _Stop being so nervous, dammit..._

Mina would not be skipping school today to attend the trial with him, but she had wished him luck, and he knew she would be updating herself on the latest news in-between classes.

Exiting his room, he went to his parents' bedroom, halting at the doorway. His mother was kneeling over his father's futon, a wet cloth draped on the latter's forehead. Futaba turned her head, eyes ringed with dark circles.

"Is he feeling any better?" inquired Satoshi, gingerly.

Yoichi had come down with a bad flu two days ago. The doctor suspected that his immune system had been weakened due to overwork. It made Satoshi's heart sink, seeing his father like this.

"His fever's gone down some," Futaba reported, lacing her fingers between Yoichi's.

"Good." Satoshi checked the travel app on his phone. "The bus to Morioka's in twenty minutes. We should get going. When will Yoshimura-san get here?" he added, referring to their next-door neighbor.

"She's not coming."

"What? Then who's gonna look after dad?"

"I will. Satoshi, I'm not going."

The rock in his stomach turned to ice. " _What?_ What do you _mean_ you're not coming?"

Futaba's eyelids lowered to half-mast. "Your father is sick, Satoshi. I need to look after him."

"Just call Yoshimura-san! She won't mind!"

"Satoshi, don't argue with me."

"I don't understand," Satoshi ground out, fists clenching by his sides. "This is _it_ , mom. Hajime... Hajime's gonna be found innocent! I _know_ he will. We have to be there for him, we _have_ to—"

"Satoshi!"

The dam he had built to hold back his resentment burst, and he yelled, "You're just a coward, aren't you?! You can't face the fact that you abandoned him when he needed you most! Dad... Dad's just an excuse for you!"

Her features were frozen in rictus. "Satoshi, no... No, please..."

"You've always been weak, mom. I know that. But for once in your life, can't you be strong for him?" Satoshi demanded, anguished. "Hajime needs us! He needs _you_."

She looked away. "I'm sorry, Satoshi."

 _Are you serious, mom?_ Desperately, he gazed at the back of her head, but she never turned around. "Fine," he relented through gritted teeth. "I'll go myself."

"Wait."

Satoshi froze. That was dad's voice.

Yoichi lifted his head, eyes fluttering open. "Son... Please don't hate your mother."

"I can't deal with that right now," he replied, coldly. "I'm going to see Hajime. _Goodbye_."

He slammed the door shut behind him, grabbed his bag, and marched out. He was dressed in his nicest suit, and a few of the locals spared him curious glances as he passed them—tie flapping in the wind—on the way to the bus station. His backpack was stuffed full with a change of clothes, underwear, snacks, and money from his allowance, which he had been saving ever since he was twelve. Soon to be eighteen years old, Satoshi screeched to a halt when something in a shop window caught his eye.

Satoshi's jaw fell. _Holy shit._ This was it. He had to buy it. He _had_ to.

He emerged from the shop with an armful of plush toy—a gigantic Godzilla plush which was roughly the same size and height as him. It obscured his view as he walked, but he managed to make it to the bus station safely—just in time for the bus to Morioka to pull up.

The drive to Morioka was roughly one and a half hours, and he made it to the train station with his Godzilla toy—it had a ribbon around its neck—at ten o'clock. It was cutting things close—the trial would start at two o'clock in the afternoon, and the journey from Morioka to Tokyo would take him a little over three hours to complete.

"Let's see," Satoshi mumbled to himself as he consulted his phone, squinting at the screen with one pudgy Godzilla arm tucked under his chin. "It should be the Tohoku Line... Platform Three, then?" After confirming it with an officer, Satoshi hopped on the right train, finding an empty carriage. He sat down, placing Godzilla next to him. The toy fell to the side, its nose resting on the top of Satoshi's gelled head.

Five minutes later, the doors closed and the train jerked to a start.

Satoshi exhaled sharply. _This is real. It feels like a dream. Or maybe even a nightmare, because it feels too good to be true._ He retrieved his earphones and phone from his bag, shuffling through his playlist before plugging in his earphones.

Music crooned, for his ears only.

The heat of the morning sun burned against the back of his head as he leaned against the window, but Satoshi was too tired to care.

_I'm coming to see you again... Hajime._

* * *

It was a school day today, but Kajihara Takeru didn't care. The night before the trial, Takeru had stolen money and a credit card from his mom's wallet—Oikawa Hotaru had been distracted by a nicely timed phone call from work—and filled his backpack with junk food instead of schoolbooks.

Iwaizumi's trial was _today_.

Takeru had never believed them. Those nasty, nasty people who had all pointed their fingers at Iwaizumi. He'd seen the way Iwaizumi and Oikawa had interacted in the past—there'd been nothing but _love_ between the two of them and Takeru refused to believe anything else.

_He would've never killed my uncle. Never._

It was all too easy to get out of the house. His mom and dad believed that he would be heading to school, as per usual, but as soon as his house disappeared from his line of sight, Takeru took a detour to Sendai Station.

Unfortunately, the train lines were confusing, and Takeru had never ridden the train by himself before.

"Um..." Takeru pointed at a random line that seemed to lead to Tokyo. "This should be good, right?"

So, hoping for the best, he took the corresponding train, fiddling with his flip phone all the while. His mom didn't allow him to have a smartphone—she didn't want him to be distracted from all the colorful phone games they had nowadays. After all, he was in his final year of middle school, and if he wanted to get into a good high school—like Aobajosai, his mom and uncle's alma mater—he needed the marks.

Perhaps it was naive of him, but Takeru dearly hoped that Iwaizumi was, well, _okay_. Iwaizumi was strong, this much Takeru knew, and Takeru didn't know how he would take it if he discovered that Iwaizumi had been battered to the point of no return during his time in prison. His stomach coiled. This was all so _wrong_. When his family had moved to a new neighborhood to get a fresh start, they'd done so under the assumption that their neighbors, the Iwaizumi family, had conceived the man who had murdered Takeru's uncle. They'd been grief-ridden and shaken, and nobody had paid Takeru's doubts of Iwaizumi's guilt any heed.

Takeru missed _Uncle Tooru_ a lot. But it had been six years, and he'd only been eight years old when he'd lost him, and he couldn't bring himself to cry over his uncle's death anymore.

What Takeru was more concerned about, currently, was the state of the living—the state of _Iwaizumi_.

The whole situation had a bleak cloud of misery hanging over it, one that Takeru could not ignore.

But he stewed too long, and missed his stop.

"Ah, crap!" Takeru panicked when he was finally aware of the fact. "Okay, okay, I just gotta retrace my steps..." The next time the train stopped, he stepped out to the station, searching for an information board of some sort. _Crud. I'm lost. I'm definitely lost. What is this place? Yamate Station? Geh! That's in Yokohama!_ Takeru worried the inside of his cheek. "Crap, crap, crap..." Yokohama wasn't too far from his destination. Probably just fifty minutes away by train. But how did he get there?

"Need some help?"

Takeru whipped around, eyes widening at the young man standing behind him. He had black hair cropped short, a plain face, and a friendly disposition. "Uh... Yeah. I need to get to Tokyo. Which line do I take?"

"Oh!" The man brightened. "I'm heading to Tokyo, too. We have to take the _Keihin-Tohoku—Negishi Line_. Here," he pointed at the information board, "this one. The train we need to take is coming in two minutes, on Platform Seven."

"Ohh..." Takeru nodded. "Thanks, mister." They walked there together. "Why're you heading to Tokyo for?"

"I don't really know if it's something I should be telling a kid."

Takeru frowned, the cogs in his brain turning. "Is it something dirty like prostitution?"

The young man balked, spluttering, "No! Yikes, kid, give a guy some warning before you say something like that. I'm attending a trial, that's all. Well—I shouldn't say 'that's all', because it's one of the biggest events this year—"

"You're heading to Iwaizumi-nii-san's trial?!" gasped Takeru.

"Wait! You know Iwaizumi?!"

"Yeah! He was Uncle Tooru's best friend!"

"Uncle Tooru?!" the guy parroted, looking faint. "Oikawa was your _uncle_?! Then... You're that little bald kid! Takeru! Well, you _were_ bald back then—I was, too—but now you have hair and— _oh my god_. I'm Watari Shinji. I played for your uncle during high school."

Damn, what were the odds? Takeru didn't remember him or his average face but he could tell Watari was speaking the truth. "Wow," he whispered, awed, as they got on the train, sitting together. "That's awesome. What position did you play?"

"Libero, I think."

"You think?"

Watari rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. "To be honest, everything that happened in high school... is a bit of a blur to me. Like, I still remember things, but... It's like a montage in a movie." His gaze darkened as he looked forward, scenery flashing by. The train rocked. "I know a lot of sad and bad things happened. Maybe it's better that I can't cry for them."

 _Memory_ , thought Takeru. _He sacrificed his memories for happiness_. He didn't know what to say about it. "Watari-san, do you not live in Miyagi anymore? Since you know how to ride the line... It means you're coming from the opposite direction, right?"

"Wow, you're pretty sharp for a kid. I live in Kanagawa now. I had to move there for work."

"Really? What do you do?"

"I work at Enoshima Aquarium."

"So you didn't continue volleyball?"

Watari shook his head, wringing his hands. "No. I didn't... I don't have the passion for it. I wasn't like Oikawa. I played because it was a little fun and I was a little good. Besides," he smiled, "I'm much happier doing what I do."

Takeru considered this. As far as he knew, no one from Oikawa's generation had gone pro except for that angry blond guy who looked like a bumblebee. He didn't know why, but a part of him had equated volleyball to happiness, and finding out that only one of them was still playing... It had upset him. But now, looking at Watari, he knew that it wasn't at all the case.

"What about you?" asked Watari. "Do you play volleyball?"

"Yep. I'm setter for my middle school team. We're not that good, but it's fun."

"Ahh... That's good. As long as you're having fun. Geez, I feel like an old man now." He leaned against the side plastic barrier, humming. "I wonder who else is coming... I can't shake the feeling that I'm gonna be seeing a lot of familiar faces again."

Yes, Takeru wondered the same, who else _would_ be coming?

* * *

At the break room in Iris Ohyama Incorporated's Aoba Building, Yamaguchi Tadashi opened up his lunchbox, which was filled with salmon sushi rolls. Seeing two of his colleagues huddled around a phone at one table, he joined them, curious. "Hey, guys." _What are they watching?_

"Oh, hello, Yamaguchi-san." His coworker in the Accounting Department, Tsuji Runa, beamed at him. She was a beautiful woman, even with only light makeup, but Yamaguchi was somehow the only person who she regularly talked to.

His other colleague, Tsuchiyu Arata from the Sales Department—and a graduate from Jozenji High—didn't look away from the screen as he said, "Yamaguchi-san, Tsuji-san, the prison bus just arrived! It's him! It's Iwaizumi!"

 _Iwaizumi Hajime?_ Realization dawned on Yamaguchi. _That's right. The trial is today, isn't it?_ He hadn't exactly been close to him, seeing as they'd gone to different high schools, but Yamaguchi's stomach still did flip-flops. There was something electrifying about watching the footage—mediocre in quality, provided by some random representative of some random news station—of Iwaizumi being led out of the bus with his head held high and expression grave.

"Goodness," Tsuji breathed, so quietly that Yamaguchi almost didn't hear her. "It's been so long since I've last seen him..."

"That's right," said Tsuchiyu, "You went to school with him, didn't you?"

She smiled again, but there was a tinge of sadness to it. "Yes, I did."

Yamaguchi chewed on his sushi thoughtfully. _Is Tsukki watching this, too? I should text him._ He was doing just that when Tsuchiyu pulled out his phone to check his social media.

"Damn," Tsuchiyu let out a low whistle, eyes bugging out from his head, "Tweeter is going _insane_ right now."

Tsuji kept watching the live feed, tautly. Yamaguchi couldn't read her.

"Wow." Yamaguchi stared at his Tweeter feed. Pretty much all the people he followed—and there weren't a lot, he was pretty low-key on social media—had posted about what was currently happening.

 **applepi** (✔) @ _kodzuken_

sorry, no stream tonight. gotta wake up early tomorrow for the trial **#freeIwaizumi**

689🗨️ 11.1k⟲ 24k♡ 

> **KuroTetsu** @ _Kuroo_Tetsurou1_
> 
> I'll see you there ;)
> 
> 54🗨️ 113⟲ 792♡

"People are angry," Tsuchiyu said, wisely. "Celebrities of all sorts from all over Japan are speaking out about it. It's kinda amazing, not gonna lie. Did you know there was a protest organized at Chiba prison the other day? Wack."

"I'll say," Yamaguchi concurred, using his thumb to scroll through his phone. The salmon tasted bland in his mouth.

"Of course they're angry," Tsuji added, the bitterness in her normally sweet and genial tone making Yamaguchi blink in surprise. "Even... Even I could beat someone up right now just thinking about how he spent the last six years _rotting_ in that hellhole."

 **Ryoka** @ _Oishi_Ryoka03_

In light of **#freeIwaizumi** and the many people in my life who have personal involvement with Iwaizumi Hajime, every yen I receive from tickets for my August concert will go towards a fund for the Iwaizumi family, who have been greatly affected by the wrongful conviction of their son. This never should have happened, and I will do my part to rectify this mistake.

432🗨️ 7.6k⟲ 17k♡

 **Alisa :3** @ _Alisaaaa_

Let's keep **#freeIwaizumi** on trending. We will not forget this injustice.

200🗨️ 2.7k⟲ 9k♡

Many of Yamaguchi's friends and followers had also liked or retweeted the posts. He recognized their online handles. One of his old upperclassmen had even made a rather disparaging tweet about Director Shō—Yamaguchi snorted in amusement.

 **oh my god don't FUCKING talk to me right now** @ _EnnoChika_

WHAT half-baked PIECE OF STEAMING MONKEY SHIT MURDERS cuz RATINGS were lower than YOUR FUCKING SPERM COUNT U ABSOLUTE DOG-BREATH BITCH UR MOTHER SHOULD HAVE SWALLOWED FUCK U SHO YOU'VE BROUGHT A BAD NAME TO ASPIRING DIRECTORS ALL AROUND JAPAN U DROOPY-DICKED CUM-COVERED CUNT!1111

15🗨️ 1⟲ 32♡

> **Buying or selling a house? Check out my bio!** @ _KazuNari_
> 
> Chikara... Are you good?
> 
> 1🗨️ ⟲ 2♡
> 
> **I can name all the Yamanote stops, what can you do?** @ _Hisashi942081_
> 
> Yo, he's lost it.
> 
> 🗨️ ⟲ 1♡

_I didn't realize Ennoshita-san could have such a potty mouth,_ Yamaguchi thought to himself, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple. _Then again, they didn't call him 'the don of the second years' for nothing... Ennoshita-san is a straight-up Yakuza boss disguised as a physical therapist._

His phone dinged. A text from Tsukishima.

 **[Tsukki]:** I'm going to the trial.

 **[Tadashi]:** Really? I'm watching from the office right now! I hope everything turns out alright.

"You know," Tsuji said, abruptly, a tremble in her voice. "I don't support capital punishment, but I don't think I would hate it if he got hanged."

Although he did not say it, Yamaguchi shared the same sentiment.

* * *

For Kindaichi, the extravagance of the big day was somehow overshadowed by Kunimi Akira simply showing up to the Supreme Court with him. When they'd left their dorm this morning, Kindaichi dressed in their finest suit and Kunimi wearing a casual jacket over his shirt and jeans, the former had been unable to take his eyes off the latter's new... _look_.

"Blue?" Kindaichi blurted.

"I got it done yesterday evening," droned Kunimi. "Didn't you see? Oh, wait, I forgot—you were already snoring like a pig when I got back."

For whatever reason, Kunimi had dyed his hair the gaudiest shade of blue Kindaichi had ever had the displeasure of seeing. The sight actually killed most of his trial nerves—Kindaichi supposed that he should be grateful for that.

There were a slew of reporters at the main gate, and Kindaichi ducked his head as he passed them, hoping that they would not recognize him. He was not arrogant enough to consider himself a celebrity, but he knew that he would be hounded if they realized who he was. Kunimi, ever so insufferable, strolled past without so much a glance at the media vultures.

The trial began at two o'clock in the afternoon. It was currently one-fifteen. Iwaizumi would be due to arrive soon, and his arrival was no doubt what the reporters were banking on to make their scoops.

"But why?" Kindaichi asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the ostentatious coloring. It was like a car crash—he didn't want to look, but he couldn't help but do so anyway.

"Decided I needed a change," Kunimi said with a slight shrug.

"I won't lie, it looks like shit."

"Good."

"What were you even _going_ for?"

"A cheap alternative for therapy."

"Please go see a counselor after this is over."

"Only if you come with."

"Goddammit, _fine_."

"Yo, you guys!"

Kindaichi and Kunimi turned around to see Sakusa and Atsumu making their way toward them. The blond had been the one to call out. "Atsumu-san! Sakusa!" exclaimed Kindaichi.

"You guys ready?" asked Atsumu, crossing his arms over his white hoodie. "Nervous? Gonna cry? Gonna piss your pants, maybe? Maybe shit and cu—"

"That's quite enough from you." Sakusa kicked him lightly on the heel, and Kindaichi could just imagine his lip curled in displeasure behind the mask. "If you talk like that in front of the panel, you won't have to worry about Shō or Daizen—I'll kill you _myself_."

Kunimi snorted derisively. "I think we've all had enough of murder at this point."

"I don't know," Sakusa said, sardonically. "I think I have room for one more body."

"Oh? How interesting."

Atsumu shrunk behind Kindaichi in mock-terror. "I see it in their eyes—the capacity to drive a knife through us."

Kindaichi scratched his cheek. "Actually, I think that's just you." He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his nerves further calming. Just like what Kunimi's blue hair had done, the familiar banter of Sakusa and his live-in witness served to soothe him. He was about to chime in to the lighthearted conversation when, from the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. _Iwaizumi?_

But it wasn't.

Kindaichi sucked in a breath.

Ushijima Wakatoshi had the face of a solemn war god watching the carnage of mortals tearing themselves to pieces. His shoulders were broad in his suit, and he towered over his companion—white-haired Hoshiumi Kourai, who played the part of Ushijima's tiny, swift-footed general. Their presence was crushing, and Kindaichi found himself grimacing when they noticed his ogling.

"Ushijima," Sakusa acknowledged, startling Kindaichi further. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Sakusa," rumbled Ushijima, bowing his head slightly. "I wish we could've met again under happier circumstances."

Atsumu looked between them, seemingly itching to interject but refraining from doing so.

"Why have you come?" inquired Sakusa with a tilt of the head. There was no hostility coming from either of them—just interest. "For your underclassman's memory?"

"Yes," Ushijima said. "But that's not all."

"Then?"

Hoshiumi peered up at his taller Adler's teammate, unusually tense as he awaited his response.

Unblinkingly, Ushijima confessed, "I want to see it. I want to see the face of the man who murdered Oikawa."

The press began to stream into the lobby, and some enthusiastic reporters hurried over to their group. "Ushijima-san! Hoshiumi-san!" said one reporter, who went by Enaga Fumi. The woman who served as her assistant today, Yonaga Mira, was grinning rather lewdly at Ushijima's buff form. "Could you spare us a word, please?"

"Aw, come on," whined Hoshiumi, hands on his hips. "You followed me here, too, Enaga-san? This is a court lobby, not a gymnasium!"

Enaga chuckled. "Sorry, Hoshiumi-san. I'm just doing my job."

"She's been stalking you for the last six years," piped Yonaga with a roll of her eyes.

"We have a bit of time," Ushijima told them.

By now, Kindaichi was the one shirking behind Sakusa and Atsumu like a shy child on the first day of kindergarten. _Don't let them see me,_ he repeated in his head. _Don't let them see me, oh god, please don't let them see me..._

Their group stepped aside for Hoshiumi and Ushijima to complete their interview, watching from a safe distance.

"So this is the life of a pro volleyball player," muttered Kunimi, stroking his chin. "Can't say I envy them."

Kindaichi shook his head. "You and me both."

"Ditto," added Atsumu, leaning against the wall.

"Ushijima-san," Enaga started, holding the microphone toward him. "Can you tell us why you've decided to attend today's trial?"

Ushijima stared unflinchingly at the camera, making Yonaga sweat. "I want to see the face of the man who murdered Oikawa." The same answer he had given Sakusa. But there was more. "Oikawa was one of my worthiest rivals during my high school days. The least he should be allowed is to rest in peace. But because of the farce of an investigation that was launched six years back, he has not yet been properly laid to rest."

Enaga nodded slowly, clearly overwhelmed by the heaviness of his statement. "I see. Thank you for your words, Ushijima-san. They were very heartfelt." She jabbed the microphone at Hoshiumi. "Would you like to add anything to the matter, Hoshiumi-san?"

"Not really," Hoshiumi admitted. "I'm just here to support Wakatoshi as a teammate."

As the interview continued, Sakusa heeded two approaching newcomers to their little group. Prosecutors Karasuda and Chinen, both wearing their prosecutor robes.

"Good day, Sakusa-san," Karasuda greeted, slowing to a stop before them. "And the rest of you, of course." He lowered his voice. "I trust that you're all prepared to testify?"

"Of course," Sakusa replied, cordially.

It was a little off, Kindaichi thought, seeing Sakusa stand with them in his formal attire rather than his prosecutor robes. A reminder that he was still disbarred—for now—and that he would have to rely on his colleagues to pull through.

"Remember," Chinen said with a smile. "Answer truthfully. It's okay to be nervous as long as you tell the truth—and nothing more than that. No embellishments or unnecessary details."

They knew—they'd been coached through this. By now, Kindaichi knew all of the answers to the prosecutors' questions—it was Lawyer Kuroo Musashi and his team that would attempt to throw them off guard.

Karasuda sniffed. "I'm sure they know by now."

Chinen frowned. "Alright, I was just making sure."

"Did you see Kuroo-san on your way in?" Sakusa asked. But his own question was answered when a group of men in black suits—lawyer badges pinned on their lapels and gleaming brilliantly under the ceiling lights—entered, reporters trailing after them. "Never mind—speak of the devil, and he shall appear, hm?"

The man heading the team—a man in his late fifties to early sixties—glanced their way, offering a sly grin. Kuroo Musashi.

Karasuda narrowed his eyes.

Their rivalry went way back, Kindaichi knew, to even before he was _born_. At least this would ensure Karasuda would fight his hardest to get a guilty verdict.

Next to Kindaichi, he could almost feel every muscle in Sakusa's body go taut when _he_ emerged. Hirakawa Daizen walked like he had done nothing wrong, his adult daughter—Hirakawa Noriko—and Director Shō following close behind. One of Daizen's lawyers was speaking in a hushed voice to them, likely running them through procedures last minute.

 _This is it._ Kindaichi swallowed, brow knitting. _This is what it's all coming down to._

The fate of justice rested in their hands.

All of a sudden, the amount of reporters flitting around the building halved, many of them rushing toward the entrance.

"He's here!" one particularly zealous journalist cried out. "Iwaizumi Hajime is here!"

"What?" Kunimi's eyes went round. "Are they serious? It's really him...?"

"We can see him after," Sakusa ordered, already going after Kuroo Musashi's team and clients alongside Atsumu, Karasuda, and Chinen. "We need to be in the courtroom."

"But—"

" _Now_ , Kunimi-san."

Kunimi glared but obeyed, stomping after Sakusa.

As for Kindaichi, he glanced helplessly over his shoulder before following suit.

* * *

 _"We are live from Tokyo!"_ cheered KTV2 reporter Tessa Kim. Makoshima Naoko sipped on her can of iced coffee in the break room, watching the live stream from her phone.

 _Nose job,_ she thought, zooming in on Tessa's visage. _That is definitely a nose job. Whoever her doctor is, they didn't do a very good job._

 _"The prison bus has just arrived,"_ continued Tessa, and Naoko vaguely recalled that the woman had been socially deported from the USA after saying a slur on national television. _"Iwaizumi-san is stepping out. He looks like a man on a mission. A mission to clear his name!"_

Naoko switched to a different channel. If she kept looking at Tessa, all she would be able to focus on was that damn nose job. Also, KTV2's cameraman hadn't been doing a very good job filming Iwaizumi's descent from the vehicle and the entire thing had been in Korean anyway.

She found a Japanese live feed—broadcasted by NHN News7—nationally beloved anchorwoman Takada Kiyomi was doing fieldwork for once in her career to report what was sure to be one of the most prolific trials in the history of Japan.

 _"Hello if you're just tuning in,"_ Takada said solemnly into the microphone, her serious, sophisticated disposition a jarring contrast from Tessa Kim's large ham persona. _"If you were here earlier this afternoon, welcome back. Iwaizumi Hajime-san, who has served six years of his life sentence despite being an allegedly innocent man, has just stepped off the prison bus. Should he be proven to be innocent of murdering the late Oikawa Tooru, it is sure to majorly upset the people's faith in the justice system. Citizens have already been causing a stir online and multiple protests for Iwaizumi-san's freedom have been organized across the Kanto region and beyond."_

The broadcast went on, but Naoko mostly tuned it out. By the time she had started paying attention again, it was nearly two o'clock and Takada was finishing up her report.

_"If a guilty verdict is ruled against HNN Foundation CEO Hirakawa Daizen, Prosecutor-General Hirakawa Noriko, and Director Shō Shinya, Iwaizumi-san will be expected to be set free immediately with compensation. An apology from the National Police Agency is also expected to be delivered in the event of such a situation, as well as an official statement from the National Public Safety Commission of the Cabinet Office of the Cabinet of Japan. Positive public opinion on law enforcement has gone down by a staggering thirty-four percent. The trial is set to begin in five minutes—we will keep you informed as soon as new information is available."_

Naoko turned off her phone.

Her break was almost over.

She collected her things.

_It's time for the world to know you're innocent... Hajime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next up: More people tuning in and the trial commences.
> 
> Kunimi now has blue hair, like in the manga extra! Watari reappears, and Oikawa's canon nephew makes his first appearance. Yamaguchi also works at Iris Ohyama, just like it was announced. I did a bit of research on the company's corporate profile, and if he still resides in Sendai, it is most likely he works at the Aoba Building. I don't think he would work in Head Office.
> 
> Also, there's been running extras in the manga where Ennoshita is some budding director, so he took extra offence at Sho's actions.
> 
> Takada Kiyomi makes her first appearance. She's a Death Note character, but just a background character to serve the world-building crossover shit I like to do. She and Light Yagami should be the only Death Note characters with speaking roles, and they are both relatively unimportant in the scheme of things. Ultimately, Haikyuu characters still have the spotlight.


	54. Jury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial continues.

**May 31st, 2018**

"Get up," they'd said. "There's someone here to see you."

That day, Iwaizumi Hajime had been introduced to the stern but righteous Prosecutor Karasuda. The details of the conversation escaped him today, but there was one thing Iwaizumi would never forget, even when he was old and gray and fighting for his last breath.

_"Should it all go well, you'll be free. For good."_

One of the wardens woke him up before any of his cellmates to instruct him to pack his things. None of them stirred, all of them exhausted from a long hard day at work. Iwaizumi wouldn't miss them.

He peered back over his shoulder at the door.

 _Goodbye, everyone,_ he didn't say. _Hopefully for good._

The process was long.

Iwaizumi had to bathe—properly for the first time in a while—eat, and shave. All of that took less than an hour, but there was a lot of waiting around to be done. The guards didn't really talk to him. He suspected that a few of them felt guilty for their treatment of a supposedly innocent man.

 _'Supposedly'. I_ am _innocent_. Iwaizumi was stony-faced as he waited in an empty room, devoid of anything except mundane furniture.

Someone rapped their knuckles on the door before stepping in. A guard. "Your cellmate wants to speak to you for one last time."

Iwaizumi cocked a brow. _Aratama?_ It had to be. Aratama was the only one well-liked enough by the prison staff for them to do him any favors. He just nodded, icy numbness settling over him. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. Waking up to another laborious day would just be cruel. The guard let Aratama in before taking his place at the door, waiting for Aratama to finish whatever he needed to do.

"Iwaizumi-san," Aratama rumbled, stopping in front of him. Unlike Iwaizumi, his hands were still in cuffs. He must have been staring, because Aratama said, "Don't make that face. I'll be out in a few months, and we'll both be free."

It really was unfair that Aratama still had to be here. He had lost most of his hair by now from the immense physical strain of prison labor. Iwaizumi sagged, smiling sadly at the older man. "Still. We've lost everything."

"But we have to keep going." Aratama looked him dead in the eye. "Promise me you'll keep going, Iwaizumi-san."

"I will," Iwaizumi told him. "Thank you, Aratama-san. You... You've always been kind to me."

Aratama shook his head. "I never made a point to be kind to any of you."

"But you were never cruel, either." A shrug. "That's the kindest thing anyone has ever given me in this shithole."

Aratama chuckled, all cobwebs and ancient fatigue. "I still can't figure you out. I guess that's the mind of an innocent man."

 _Innocent man._ He'd done a good job of holding himself together up until now, but looking at Aratama's weathered but earnest expression had Iwaizumi's chest crumpling painfully. The back of his eyes stung with oncoming tears, and he blinked them back. "Thank you," he repeated, voice barely above a whisper. "I hope you find your peace. I hope that you get justice, too. One day—you and your daughter should get justice, too."

Aratama's daughter had been the same age as he was now when she had been raped, beaten, and left to die. The rapist had been found face-down in a ditch with his balls cut off. Aratama had turned himself in a few hours after the discovery, covered in shit and blood.

"It's too late for me," Aratama said, honestly, chains clinking. "But it's not too late for you.

"Go out there, Iwaizumi-san.

"Go out there and _live_."

He began to turn, halting when Iwaizumi bowed to him in one swift motion.

"Thank you, Aratama-san."

* * *

Back in grade school, Sugawara Koushi's least favorite question had been 'what word would you use to define yourself'? What a horrible question it had been! What a horrible question it still was! Even back then, he'd been clever enough to realize that there was no fitting his entire identity into the boxy constraints of a noun or an adjective. Linguistics had been his forte during his schooling, and now—twenty-three years old, going on twenty-four, and adult as can be—he could safely say that he was fluent in both Japanese and English. A sound accomplishment, considering he had never been out of the country.

As of this April, he was a teacher at Nagamushi Elementary. His old teachers—the ones that were still alive and kicking and generally around—had welcomed him back with hearty slaps on the back and open arms. Sugawara taught Japanese at the school alongside his old Japanese teacher (and wow, wasn't _that_ awkward). Although not one for tooting his own horn, Sugawara knew that he was popular among the students.

Lunchtime was in full-swing when Sugawara was finally relieved of his supervising duty and free to eat his homemade meal in the faculty room until his next class. When he entered, there were a few teachers gathered around the single boxy television in the room. A lot of their equipment was still old-school, as government funding tended to go more toward high schools and middle schools.

"Afternoon, everyone," Sugawara greeted warmly. A couple of heads turned and return greetings and smiles were swapped. "What are we watching?"

"Ah, Sugawara-sensei," one of younger teachers said. "There's a trial in Tokyo today. I hope Iwaizumi-san will be proven innocent!"

Sugawara nearly swore in English, but he caught himself before he could. "What?" _Trial? What trial?_ He'd been out of sorts for the past two and half weeks, busy with grading excellent (and abysmal) pop quizzes and sorting out student portfolios for the upcoming parent-teacher interview week. _Iwaizumi? Like... the Iwaizumi from Aobajosai? The one who killed Oikawa? It can't be, right? There are lots of people named Iwaizumi in Japan_. Sugawara sat down, craning his neck so he could see the screen.

"Oh, didn't you know, Sugawara-sensei?" said another teacher—a balding man who used to be the vice-principal back in Sugawara's school days. Now, he was just a simple mathematics teacher on the verge of retirement. "They say that Iwaizumi-san was falsely imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. According to public opinion, a lot of people seem to think that HNN Foundation are responsible for the murder of that teenage boy—or are at least covering it up."

It was all too much to take in at once.

His lunchbox felt heavy in his hands.

Not once had Sugawara considered the possibility that Iwaizumi Hajime might have been innocent. Karasuno had played very few matches against Aobajosai and Sugawara hadn't known Iwaizumi well enough to contradict what the authorities had had to say. Something like shame welled up in him. If Iwaizumi really was innocent, then... _What have we done? We've made a horrible mistake._

A face from long ago appeared on television, reporters of all shapes and sizes attempting to surround him.

Sugawara almost choked on his rice. "Is that Kageyama?!"

Someone turned around, bemused. "Who?"

But Sugawara didn't answer, just let the rice sit grossly in his mouth as he watched Kageyama frown on television and refuse interviews. Never in his life had he ever felt so out of the loop. Just _what_ was going on? _I... really need to watch the news more._ He swallowed his food.

An orange-haired man Sugawara didn't recognize grabbed Kageyama by the hand and yanked him up the stairs to the Supreme Court with surprising strength. Two women accompanied them—both with blonde hair; they had to be sisters.

Something heavy settled on his shoulders as Kageyama soundlessly griped, clearly bantering with the others. Then the camera switched, and they were no more.

Sometimes, Sugawara wished that he had done more to help the boy—man, he corrected. Kageyama was a man now. Gosh. Time flew, didn't it? _I should've paid more attention to him,_ he lamented. But Karasuno's greatest fault had been their inability to unify themselves as a team—Kageyama had always been a bit of an outsider, rejecting every single one of their offers to hang out if it didn't involve practice. _We should have pestered him more. Tried to understand him._ Sugawara sighed. It was a bit too late for that now.

_But at least..._

He didn't seem sad.

No—on the contrary, in fact.

Kageyama had looked more alive than Sugawara had ever remembered him being.

Knowing that he had nothing to do with that—as Kageyama's former upperclassman—was a bitter pill to swallow, but one Sugawara accepted anyway.

* * *

"It's starting!" Koganegawa cried as he remembered, not even reacting to the ball that landed on his head—it'd been thrown by Kyoutani, from the other end of room. Kyoutani, lounging in Koganegawa's apartment, sat up when Koganegawa belly-flopped onto the couch with his tablet. "Kyou-kun, how do you spell 'supreme'—"

"Give it here." Deftly, Kyoutani typed 'Iwaizumi trial supreme court' into the search bar. The first result was a live-stream which currently had over forty-thousand people watching. The numbers were still growing fast. It was a miracle that the server hadn't crashed.

Koganegawa's apartment was small but nicely spruced. He had a little area dedicated for exercise—several dumbbells sitting against the wall and a rolled up yoga mat in the corner. The early afternoon sunlight made the screen glare, but neither of the men bothered to get up from where they were relaxing on the sofa.

"What's happening?" Koganegawa prodded Kyoutani's ribs.

"Be quiet, Angry Bird, I'm tryin' to watch."

Unfortunately for Kyoutani, Koganegawa was terrible at taking orders. "Ooh! Is that Iwaizumi?" He jabbed his finger at a figure—flanked by two men—emerging from a side entrance. "They let you wear suits in prison?"

"Idiot. He obviously changed before he got here. People would riot if they made him wear his prison jumpsuit." Though Kyoutani made sure to sound dismissive and cruel, there was a storm brewing in his sinewy body. Just the sight of Iwaizumi on Koganegawa's tablet made him jumpy, filling him with a negative energy and leaving no way to channel it outward. _It wasn't supposed to be like this._ Frustration coursed through him. He tightened his grip on Koganegawa's tablet. _Why? Why did it have to be you?_

_Why did it have to be the only person I actually respected?_

Kyoutani was not the sort of person to feel despondent. Sadness was not an emotion he did not feel very often, and when he did, he never wallowed in it. Sadness was the same to Kyoutani as a scraped knee was to the average adult. Something that rarely happened—and when it did, it wasn't a big deal. Today, however, was different. Melancholy wrapped its tender embrace around Kyoutani's stiff shoulders, leaving them heavy with a dull ache.

 _You better win_. Kyoutani was glued to the screen, even managing to tune out Koganegawa's inane questioning and lack of ability to input visual information into his brain. _What kind of senpai would you be... if you lost again?_

* * *

"Kozume-san, could you give us a word—"

"Kozume-san, what brings you hear to the trial today?!"

"Kodzuken, are you for or against Iwaizumi—?"

"He's not taking questions!" Kuroo yelled over the crowd of reporters. _Like flies to honey._ His coat fluttered in the wind as he flapped it, shooing the pesky journalists away. Once they had retreated enough, Kuroo draped the coat over Kenma—the fabric engulfed the shorter man. "Geez, Kyanma, your name makes people go wild."

Kenma's voice was muffled by the coat. "Don't call me that, Kuro."

" _Kyaaanma_ ," Kuroo drawled, grinning though he knew Kenma wasn't able to see it. He had his hands on Kenma's shoulders, guiding him through the crowded courtyard and up the stairs to the Supreme Court. "Why did you come? I didn't think you would care about current affairs. My cute Kyanma, always lost in his little fantasy world."

"Careful. Oishi-san might castrate you if she hears you talking like this."

"Wouldn't be the first time. Besides, she knows you're the exception to, well, _everything_."

Kozume Kenma really should not have announced his presence at the trial on Tweeter. In hindsight, it had been a terrible move, because not only were news correspondents from mainstream media here, but also correspondents from gaming blogs and such. "I shouldn't have done that twenty-four hour stream... It makes me tweet shit. Ugh, whatever. What's done is done." Once they were inside, Kenma pushed the coat off him, Kuroo catching it before it could hit the ground. "You wanted to know why I came, right?"

"Hm? Oh—yeah."

"It's because nothing much interesting happens nowadays," Kenma said drolly. "Besides," he slouched, hands dipping into his pockets, "Isn't it kinda cool?"

"Cool?" Kuroo parroted. "No offence, Kenma, but this whole thing has cast a cloud of unbearable misery over my year."

"Don't be so dramatic. There's nothing cooler than seeing a bad guy eat shit."

Kuroo scrutinized him. "It's because Shouyou's coming, isn't it?"

Kenma didn't even deny it. "That was certainly the opposite of a mitigating factor—oh, shit." They passed through the doors. "There are no seats near Shouyou."

" _But_ I do see Bokkun and Akaashi sitting at the front. Let's go join 'em." As they made their way down the mini corridor, Kuroo paused, leaving Kenma to go on ahead. "Sa'a'mura?"

Sawamura Daichi looked pleasantly surprised to see Kuroo. "Oh! Kuroo! Damn, it's been a while, huh?"

The brunet man seated next to Daichi peered around the inspector's broad form. "Hm? Your friend, Sawamura-san?" He had a face like a porcelain doll—Kuroo had never seen a more perfectly symmetrical mien in his life, and he knew _Akaashi_. There was something off about him, though, and Kuroo plastered on a fake smile.

"Right—Light-senpai, this is a friend I knew from high school: Kuroo Tetsurou."

"Pleasure," Kuroo demurred.

Light smiled back. "Really, the pleasure's all mine."

Kuroo adored Daichi, but he didn't seem to be able to read his discomfort at the moment—a situation which Kuroo lamented. "Light-senpai is also an inspector, though he's been doing it for way longer than me."

"Ah. Is that so?"

Light seemed to dismissive Daichi's bragging of him. "It's not a big deal. To be honest, Sawamura-san and I take on very different roles—he's saving lives out on the field and I'm—"

"You're saving more lives by working with L—"

Light frowned, his pleasant facade dissipating abruptly. "That's enough Sawamura-san." He looked back up at Kuroo. "I do desk work."

 _'Eru'? L? L who? Whatever._ "Well," Kuroo backpedaled, doing his best not to blatantly stare at the wedding band on Light's finger, "I should really go find Kenma. We should go out for a drink sometime, Sa'a'mura."

Sawamura laughed, slapping Kuroo on the arm. "Of course!"

Light leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his khaki suit. "Don't have too much fun, Sawamura-san," he said in a way that was meant to be lightly teasing. To Kuroo's ears, it sounded mildly ominous.

If Kenma were here, he would say that Light would be lawful-neutral on the alignment chart.

* * *

"Excuse me. Pardon me. Coming through."

Tsukishima scowled as a short man with carrot-colored hair climbed over him and Haiba Lev to get to the free seats. Lev took the intrusion in stride. It was just the kind of person he was—Tsukishima had to stop him from bringing panini bread into the courtroom and getting them both kicked out. His flinty gaze flicked to Lev's upper lip. Clear of any facial hair, but dotted with bread crumbs. Some of them fell to his pants— _designer!_ —when the two blondes following Hinata shimmied around the pair as well.

"Oh god," Tsukishima couldn't help but say when Kageyama hesitated beside him. "Just go and pretend we don't know each other."

Kageyama nodded, not saying a word.

There were only three seats left. Kageyama didn't have one.

"Sorry," said Kageyama. "Could you move down one?"

"Ugh. Lev, get up and move your ass to the right."

Lev made to get up before pausing. "Your right or mine?"

"We're both front-facing, so it doesn't matter!"

Kageyama thanked them politely when he took Tsukishima's old seat. _Enjoy my butt warmth,_ Tsukishima thought, pettily. Truly, he didn't mind Kageyama much at all these days, but old habits died hard. As for Lev... Tsukishima would've rather Alisa come instead, but she had a shoot today—one she was unable to postpone or cancel due to her contract with a high-profile perfume brand.

In the adjacent row of seats, divided from Tsukishima's row by a carpeted corridor, Ushijima and Hoshiumi were getting comfortable. They were stony-faced, their bodies all hard lines and corners in the wake of the event. A few members of the press—sent by their respective companies—occupied the back rows. They had only notepads—no phones or cameras allowed to be used during proceedings. There was only one camera situated in the back corner of the room, and it belonged to the Japanese justice system. The trial would be broadcasted, live, from only one official source. Behind Hoshiumi and Ushijima, Enaga Fumi and Yonaga Mira were discussing work-related topics in low voices.

Seated in the row closest to the front were the forensics team—Shirabu, Obata, Smith, and Miyazawa—all of whom would be called to testify. Next to them were a pair of men wearing nondescript hoodies—one bespectacled and dark-haired and the other wide-eyed and tense with excitement.

"Hey, hey, Akaashi," Bokuto Koutarou whispered loudly to his boyfriend. "Which one killed your old middle school classmate?"

"None of them killed Osamu," Akaashi replied, patiently. "The trial is due to start in fifteen minutes—he should be here soon."

"Ohh. Can you point at him when he come?"

"If you want, Bokuto-san."

Bokuto dropped his head onto Akaashi's shoulder. "Aw, come on. We're dating now—drop the _-san_ , Akaashiii."

Akaashi's disposition never changed, but his face went from pale to apple-cheeked. "Only if you promise not to make a scene when I do point the killer out. I don't need you to be charged for assault on top of everything else."

"Hrrrgh! He just makes me so mad! Why did he have to kill Osamu and Oikawa and blame it on someone innocent? It pisses me off!"

Akaashi interlaced his fingers with Bokuto's. "I know. Udai-sensei's already drafting a story based on Iwaizumi-san—you know how much he thrives on controversy and underdog tales—but he can't decide whether to go all-out and make it a manga, or make it a light novel with some sparse but detailed illustrations..."

"Really? What's it gonna be called?"

"I don't remember... 'Something Society', I think? I'll ask him later."

Not too long after, a group of men wearing crisp black suits stalked in, oozing professionalism. The majority carried briefcases with them, though the one leading them went empty-handed. Bokuto's already round eyes further widened when the leader smiled at him.

"Hello, Bokuto-san. It's been a while."

"Kubro's dad!" Bokuto exclaimed, drawing the attention of observers within the vicinity. "How are you?"

"Quite well. Though I will say I am neither pleased nor displeased about my client. You must come over for dinner sometime soon."

Kuroo Musashi dipped his head before continuing on his way, his team of five trailing after him like knights would their king. Not far behind them were Daizen, Noriko, and—

"Him," Akaashi discreetly pointed at Shō, "They say he killed Osamu. But, so far, it's just a rumor. Hm?" Akaashi noticed a brown-haired woman—late thirties or early forties—scurrying in close to Shō. He didn't recognize her, though his and Shō's industries occasionally overlapped. _His wife, maybe? Wait... She's...!_

The woman— _Miya Akari_ , Akaashi recalled, Osamu's mother's appearance coming like a punch to the gut—took a seat in the back row, next to a reporter wearing a lanyard with a pass announcing her affiliation with NHN Television—the lovely Takada Kiyomi. Beside her was her old friend and the current face of the NPA—Yagami Light, straight-faced and indifferent to the electricity in the air. Next to Light was Inspector Sawamura Daichi.

The prosecuting party and several witnesses entered next. Prosecutors Karasuda and Chinen took their places at the prosecution stand while Sakusa, Kindaichi, Kunimi, and Miya Atsumu sat in one of the front rows designated for witnesses.

A good-looking couple plus their purple-haired giant of a friend sat behind the forensic team. There was the sound of a chip bag crinkling before Momoi Satsuki shoved Murasakibara Atsushi's party-sized bag of chips into Aomine Daiki's bulky sweatshirt.

"Is Midorima here yet?" Momoi stretched her neck, trying to catch sight of the Chief Prosecutor.

"Doesn't look like it," commented Aomine. "See him, Atsushi?"

Murasakibara halfheartedly scanned the room before shaking his head.

Four minutes to two, Watari Shinji and Kajihara Takeru claimed the last seats in the back row, the latter dismayed at all the heads blocking his view. Kuroo and Kenma showed up immediately behind them, finding their places next to Bokuto and Akaashi. Kuroo stopped briefly for conversation with Daichi and Light.

Three minutes to two, Chief Prosecutor Midorima Shintaro finally appeared. His eyes met Noriko's—then he glanced away, smiling tiredly at Aomine, Momoi, and Murasakibara. He sat next to Sakusa Kiyoomi, mumbling a greeting. Midorima clutched a tiny paper crane in one hand. He needed all the luck he could get today—Cancer was at the very bottom of today's Oha-Asa list.

And then—

"It's him," Enaga breathed, lifting her arms up to take a photo before realizing she had left her camera in Yonaga's car.

Iwaizumi Hajime walked guarded by two police officers, coming through a side entrance. Instead of his usual prison garb, he was wearing a suit and tie. His skin was tanned from several years of working potato fields under the sun. He didn't look at anyone as he was led to the prosecution stand, where he took a seat beside Chinen. Karasuda acknowledged him with a curt nod, something akin to apology in his old eyes. Chinen squeezed his shoulder once before shuffling her papers, a quiet steel to her aura.

At the same time, the judging panel—composed of three justices and six lay judges—entered the courtroom from yet another entrance. In silence, they, too, got seated at the judge's bench at the very front of the room.

Sitting in the middle of the judge's bench, the ultimate authority in the room—

Chief Justice Midorima Mahiro presided.

* * *

_Oh my god, it's starting._ Kindaichi chewed a flake of skin on his bottom lip, unable to take his eyes off Chief Justice Midorima Mahiro. _The Chief Prosecutor's father..._ He didn't know how this could have happened. Wasn't this a conflict of interests? _Technically_ , Mahiro had emotional stakes in the trial. He sneaked a glance at Sakusa. _He doesn't seem worried at all._ Would having Mahiro as a judge—and arguably the most powerful one in the room—sway things? Everything Kindaichi had learned in law school screamed _yes_. But ever since he had started working under Sakusa, he had come to find things were different in practice—theory would never adequately substitute for experience.

Nobody talked as the judges spent prepared. Only thirty seconds until the trial would begin.

The courtroom typist pursed her lips, bony fingers at the ready—they hovered above her steno machine.

Then it happened.

Mahiro stood. "This court is hereby in session." He gazed at the accused—Shō Shinya—like an owl would its prey. "Please step forward."

The old director nodded, shuffling behind the witness stand. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and Kindaichi could imagine him counting to three in his head to calm himself down. Kindaichi had attended a few trials before as part of his curriculum—though none as big as this one—and it was not uncommon for suspects and witnesses to be overwhelmed by nerves.

"The trial is now being held regarding the charges against you of homicide, solicitation, negligent driving causing injury, and hit and run," continued Mahiro. "Please listen as the public prosecutor reads the charging instrument." To Karasuda, he requested, "Will you please read the charging instrument?"

Prosecutor Karasuda got to his feet, clearing his throat. "The prosecution charges the accused with two counts of homicide, one count of solicitation, one count of causing injury through negligent driving, and one count of hit and run. In accordance to the Penal Code, and in lieu of the circumstances of the bereaved parties, the prosecution asks for the death penalty for the double-homicide, three years of imprisonment for solicitation, eight years of imprisonment for negligent driving leading to injury, and a fine of five million yen for the hit and run."

"The court is now going to hear this case based on the charges against you that have been read by the public prosecutor. Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you. You have the right to remain may refuse to answer some of the questions, or you may remain silent throughout the trial. However, any statement made by you in this court may be used as evidence either for or against you. Therefore, answer any questions bearing these points in mind." Midorima narrowed his eyes at Shō, who had his head bowed. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Shō answered. "I do."

"Do you have anything you wish to say in response to the statement just read by the public prosecutor?"

"Only that I am not a murderer, and that I never meant to do any of the things I did."

"I see. What is your opinion, Defense Counsel?"

It was Kuroo Musashi's turn to stand, either completely ignoring Karasuda's burning stare or blissfully unaware of it. "I concur with the accused," Musashi stated firmly. "He was not involved in either homicide, nor was he involved in solicitation, negligent driving causing injury, and hit and run. Therefore, he is not guilty as charged."

 _He's pleading not guilty for any of the charges?!_ Kindaichi was alarmed. _He... He must feeling extremely confident_. Not many people knew this, but Japan's ninety-nine percent conviction rate was largely owed to the fact that indictment rate hovered at a measly thirty-seven percent. That meant the shiny ninety-nine percent statistic represented the proportion of convicted persons divided by the number of indicted persons and nothing more. _We only prosecute when we're sure we can prove their guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Sakusa is the best example of this._ Prosecutors had the burden on proof stifling them—if a public prosecutor failed to prove a fact necessary to find the accused guilty, that fact was considered to be non-existent and hugely advantageous to the accused.

Musashi had no more to say.

"Now," Mahiro spoke. "We shall commence with examination of the evidence. Please make your opening statement, Prosecutor Karasuda."

* * *

**May 23rd, 2018**

"My father is a psychopathic _bastard_." Noriko did not mince her words. She never was the type to. Her eyes, though—they spooked Sakusa, though he would never admit it. They were the eyes of a woman who had lost everything—who'd had everything she ever valued stripped away from her. Midorima pressed his palms against the plastic barrier, and Sakusa resisted the urge to whip out some antibacterial wet wipes and clean the screen, scrubbing particularly hard over Noriko's face. But he didn't—Sakusa listened instead. "He killed my mother. I didn't see her die, but the last time I saw her, he was beating her with one of his golf clubs." Her lips twisted in a grimace. "Don't bother looking for it—he got rid of it years ago. Melted it down."

"How did chronic illness become the reason, then?" Sakusa asked, out of genuine curiosity than anything else.

"My mother had a respiratory disease," Noriko revealed. "She was constantly in poor health, so it wasn't a stretch for her to finally succumb to sickness." Those eyes—so, so _hollow_. "He... My father... He made my uncle submit a false report. _My uncle had to cut his own sister apart and lie about her death_."

"He did this to protect you." Midorima winced. "I—God, Noriko..."

"Uncle knew what my father was capable of doing to me. He didn't want me to suffer the same fate as my mother. He has connections, you know—they would wave off the suspicion of my death if they needed to."

Sakusa arched a brow. "Who exactly is 'they'? Can you give us any names?"

"I don't know the extent of his network." Noriko looked at him wearily. "But I know a few key figures."

"Who?"

"The Minister of Justice is a big one."

Sakusa's eyes widened. _The Minister of Justice..._ One of the highest authorities in the legal system. He was corrupt? Someone that high up was pulling strings for Daizen? He swore. "The Minister of Justice—"

"Put me in my position," finished Noriko. "Honestly, do you think someone my age—no matter how qualified—would be able to become Prosecutor-General without nepotism being in play?"

"Oh, I knew. But until now, they were just faceless bastards."

Midorima fiddled with his watch, as if contemplating something nervously. Finally, he said, "I received a lot of support during my transition to Chief Prosecutor. The politicians that vouched for me... I have no doubt your father was involved as well. Maybe mine was, too."

"Actually," Sakusa said. "Your father doesn't seem like the type to do anything stupid like that. Mahiro-san as I knew him isn't the sort of power-hungry politician that would do this kind of thing."

Midorima smiled, weakly. "If that's true, then I'm glad. Noriko, how long has this corruption been happening?"

"In relation to me," Noriko answered. "Since I was seventeen. A little before my mother's death, my father organized a meeting between the Minister and I during one of his social events."

Sakusa remembered that party. It was the same one where he had been introduced to a world of lies and schemes. He still remembered Luke Swan's handsome smirk as he offered him a baggie of snow purer than the Swan bloodline.

Luke Swan died of an overdose three years ago.

 _So that was when it all started..._ Sakusa hummed, thoughtful. The Minister of Justice was a big spider in the web. He wasn't necessarily looking to take him down at the same time as Daizen and Shō, but they needed enough evidence for an inquiry to be launched. _And we can succeed. For now, we have to focus on what's in front of us._ "Is there anyone else you can name?"

There were, and Noriko listed them. Midorima took note of them on his phone.

"There is... one more person," Noriko uttered, uncertainly. "I don't think you'll like to hear it very much, though, Sakusa-san."

"No need to spare my feelings," Sakusa droned. "You've never cared for them, so don't start now."

"Hah!" Noriko cackled mirthlessly. "You never had room for me in your heart, and I never had room for you in mine. Very well, then—it's your precious aunt. Judge... No, I should say... _Justice_ Terano Maki."

Perhaps it should have hurt more. Perhaps Noriko had wanted to hurt him with her words, because they were the only thing left she could hurt him with. But Sakusa didn't shy from her, meeting her worn gaze with nothing but peace. "I figured," he said with no inflection in his tone. _That woman climbed too fast within a short amount of time considering the gender bias in the system._ "She would do anything to advance her career. I thought you were the same as her, once. But you're not. I feel like... You'd be content with a simple life, Hirakawa."

Noriko tilted her head. "You're not wrong. But I was doomed to Prosecutor-General." She said it as if the heralded position were a curse. "Being in such power... meant that my father had yet another layer to protect himself with. That was all I was meant to be—some... shield."

The topic that they would naturally swerve into approached. Midorima was the one who tested the waters. "Noriko... Do you think you can tell us about your sister?"

"Ah..." Noriko rubbed her cheeks roughly. "My real sister, or the fake?"

"The real one."

"The fake will be testifying anyway," Sakusa added. Kuroo Rina would tell the world everything they needed to know when that time came. _The pieces are all falling into place now._

"My sister..." Noriko heaved a sigh. "If I am my father's shield, then Shion was his sword. He groomed her to be his successor. He taught her his ways. How to manipulate, lie, con. How to strong-arm others into submission. How to _succeed_ him. He never... He never touched her the way he did to me. My sister was the only person my father was ever capable of loving, and even then it was purely conditional. When she broke those conditions, the love all went away.

"Shion took after my father. She was headstrong and... refused to let him control her. She rebelled. She rebelled for years before my father couldn't take it anymore. He beat her within an inch of death and locked her away with the intention of only letting her out if she submitted. But Shion refused. I..." A fresh wave of tears were brimming in her golden gaze. "I love her so much. She's my big sister. But then father started saying he loved me, and even though I knew it was all a lie, _I wanted to believe it so bad_.

"Father tried to make me into another Shion. But... I could never live up to her. Whenever I failed, he would threaten me—threaten me with Shion or mother but mostly Shion. He said he would kill her, and after he killed mother— _killed her for absolutely no reason_ —I knew he wouldn't spare Shion if I ever disobeyed him. Not even marrying you, Shintaro, could've freed me."

Sakusa didn't need to feel Midorima's tremble to sense his rage. He could see it in the way the muscles in his face tightened.

"That fucking _scumbag_ ," he hissed, eyes narrowed hatefully behind his glasses. "I—if I'd known about everything—"

"Shh, shh," Noriko hushed him, "It's alright, Shintaro. I made sure that you would never know. You made good deductions about my situation, but there were things you could have never figured out on your own." She glanced between her husband and Sakusa. "Together, though... No, it's too late for that."

Sakusa bit his lip, grateful for his mask. "Years too late."

"Better late than never and so forth, though, right?" Midorima was oddly optimistic. "We're here now."

Sakusa blinked; it suddenly occurred to him that there was some sense in Midorima's words and optimism. "Yes, yes we are."

"I know where Shion is," said Noriko. "She's locked in the basement underneath our family home in Sendai. The keys are in my father's office, the top drawer. It's unlocked."

"And you never bothered to steal them?"

"How could I? He would hunt us down and murder us. And we all knew it—hence the lax security. Please, find her—but don't get my father arrested just yet. Or else he'll admit to keeping her locked up, but deny everything else."

Midorima palmed his knees, leaning forward until his green bangs brushed the protective screen. "Everything else? Like your mother's murder?"

Noriko nodded, balking. "Yes, but not only that."

"Right." They looked to Sakusa, who had spoken. "There's the issue of...

_"Kageyama Miwa's murder."_

* * *

**May 31st, 2018**

"The evidence will be examined. The prosecution has the floor. Prosecutor Karasuda, please explain the evidence in detail," Mahiro ordered, steepling his fingers. To Atsumu, the judge's voice was slurred, but he knew it was only his imagination. He lifted a hand to pat his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.

Chinen pressed a button on the remote control she was holding, and the screen at the front of the room lit up. A close-up picture of a knife appeared—the murder weapon that Shō had slain Oikawa with.

Karasuda said as much. "This kitchen knife was discarded nearby where the victim's body was found. The accused was wearing gloves when he used it to kill Oikawa-san, as supported by a written confession."

"That is nothing more than conjecture from the prosecution," rebutted Musashi, arch in tone. "The 'written confession' you are referring is the handwritten note discovered in Oikawa-san's middle school locker, correct? As it is, it is merely circumstantial that my client supposedly murdered him. During the investigation, a PET scan of my client's brain was conducted. It should be noted that Shō-san is clinically depressed. It is not unreasonable for him to have suffered a psychotic break if he suffered extreme emotional stress during the time he wrote the note."

"The extreme stress caused by _murdering the victim_."

"A very low possibility. It is much likelier that Shō-san was feeling the negative effects of losing his wife and children in a car accident and thus, when the news of Oikawa-san's death was broadcasted, compelled to hand-write a false confession in his delusion." Musashi clasped his hands behind his back. "The late Oikawa-san was someone who Shō-san knew on a slight personal level. The survivor's guilt he felt toward his family was subconsciously projected onto the victim."

"It is difficult to believe that the accused would confess to killing a boy he knew briefly during his career but not his family."

"His family died long before the victim did—naturally, the fresher death imprinted itself onto Shō-san. The outcome was this note—a _false_ confession."

Karasuda leered at his longtime rival. "The possibility of the confession being true must not be dismissed by the defense so soon. Alongside the note, there is witness testimony to support the legitimacy of the murder weapon. Dr. Miyazawa Kazuhito can attest to this, seeing as he was responsible for falsifying forensic evidence during the investigation of the victim's death."

"I see." Mahiro flipped through his court document. "I call Miyazawa Kazuhito to the stand as a witness."

Atsumu could almost hear Miyazawa's aged joints creak as he stood, ambling over to the witness stand. He clutched the sides of the wooden stands to steady himself, a strand of gray hair curling at his forehead.

"Will the witness declare his name and occupation?" requested Karasuda, proceeding with the identity check.

"My name is Miyazawa Kazuhito. I work for the NPA as a coroner," stated Miyazawa, coolly. Atsumu glanced briefly to the right—just in time to see Shirabu scowl at the witness.

"Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"I will remind you that offering false testimony will result in punishment for perjury. Additionally, you have the right to to refuse to answer any questions that may incriminate you or your relatives."

 _A bit too late for that_ , Atsumu thought, sardonic. He shifted in his seat, shoulder bumping against Sakusa's momentarily.

The questioning began. The process was painfully arduous, but Atsumu managed to sit through it without zoning out for prolonged periods of time. At some point, it had become less about Shō's guilt and more about the rivalry between the prosecution and the defense, but the focus still remained on the case. The next time Atsumu started paying attention again, a new subject evidence had been brought up.

"This is a clay pig belonging to Hirakawa Noriko," Chinen introduced, gesturing to the screen, which now displayed a picture of the art piece. "Noriko-san made sure that Iwaizumi-san's finger prints would be on the surface of the pig before handing it to Miyazawa-sensei. Once the murder weapon came his way for examination, it was using this pig that Miyazawa-sensei was able to get a hold of Iwaizumi-san's finger prints and plant them on the knife. The report was also written personally by Miyazawa-sensei and signed off to pose as legitimate paperwork." Chinen turned to Miyazawa. "Is this correct, Miyazawa-sensei?"

Miyazawa nodded. "It is."

"That is all."

During the cross-examination, Musashi sunk his claws into Miyazawa. "Sensei, you claim that the autopsy report you signed off had all been done by yourself. I ask you: Who delivered the report to Karasuda-san back in 2012, when Karasuda-san was the prosecutor in charge of the case?"

"That..." Miyazawa wracked his brains. "If my memory serves me correctly... That would've been my old friend on the investigation team, Wada Gorou. Unfortunately, he has long since passed."

"Yes, I see," mused Musashi. "The delivery process would've taken... a few hours, perhaps? More or less. Enough time for the report to be tampered."

Miyazawa flinched. "Excuse me? Why would the report be tampered? It was a fake report, there didn't need to be any more tampering."

"I bring this up," Musashi explained. "Because several inconsistencies were noted when we read the report. Grammatical errors, misuse of kanji, overabundance of hiragana writing, lack of continuity in the DNA section of the report... It casts doubt onto the original state of the report that a seasoned pathologist like you would make such juvenile mistakes."

"The witness was not in a good frame of mind," Karasuda bit out, glaring daggers at Miyazawa to warn him to stay silent before he could unwittingly give the defense the advantage. "After having to operate on his sister's body and illegally cooperating with Hirakawa Noriko to get away with _murder_ , of course Miyazawa-sensei's mind would not be functioning at one-hundred percent."

"It does not take one-hundred percent of Miyazawa-sensei's cognitive abilities to provide a sound report, especially one with as many stakes riding on it as it did. Therefore, it is not impossible—in fact, it is highly possible—that the report was tampered by the deceased police officer Miyazawa-sensei named and cannot be taken at face value as supporting evidence of Miyazawa-sensei's testimony. I ask the judging panel to keep this in consideration."

Four of the lay judges and one of the justices lowered their heads as they wrote something down on their notepads.

"Then Hirakawa Noriko will testify," proposed Karasuda.

Mahiro, too, scribbled on his paper before announcing, "I call Hirakawa Noriko to the stand as a witness."

Like a fawn walking into a lion's den, Noriko's legs trembled as she approached the stand, Miyazawa moving out of the way for her. Her eye caught Shō's, and Atsumu could've sworn she mouthed a forlorn apology to him before getting seated and patting her skirt down.

Shō didn't reply her.

Chinen took over—spur of the moment, judging by the filthy look Karasuda threw her way. "Will the witness please declare her name and occupation?"

Noriko's throat convulsed in anxiety as she spoke. "My name is Hirakawa Noriko. Up until the ninth of May, I was the Prosecutor-General of Japan. Currently, I would describe myself as unemployed."

After swearing oath and being reminded of her rights, the questioning recommenced.

"Noriko-san." Karasuda regained control. "Please explain to us how you were able to extract Iwaizumi-san's finger prints onto the pig."

"I put on a high school uniform and faked a confession," Noriko said, brow tilting upward as she made a pitiful expression. "I gave the clay pig to him. Before he got home from volleyball practice on the night of the victim's death, I retrieved the pig by sneaking into his house. I went through his bedroom window on the second floor—there was a tree I climbed. Then I took the pig to my uncle and left the rest up to him."

"So you admit to being an accomplice in the murder of Oikawa Tooru?"

Noriko exhaled. "Yes. I do. Shō asked me, and I couldn't refuse."

"Why couldn't you refuse?"

"Because of the nature of our relationship."

Atsumu's lips fixed into a grimace. If that was what it sounded like, then Shō was even worse than he had thought.

"And what," Karasuda tread lightly, "exactly was the nature of your relationship around the time of the murder?"

"He was like a father to me," Noriko explained. Atsumu breathed a sigh of relief. "I loved him as one. After I got married, we saw each other less frequently, but I still loved him. When he asked me to do this for him... I... I just couldn't say no."

"Do you know how Shō committed the crime?"

"Other than what I've read in the reports, no. But I did procure for him a drug from my family's pharmaceutical subsidiary—one that would incapacitate the victim to make him easier to... easier to kill. It would not have been able to be detected by forensic equipment during that time. As of now, with technological improvements, the drug has been rendered obsolete."

Karasuda held up a sealed bag with a single pill in it, a typed up report in his other hand. "Is this the drug?"

"Yes. That's the drug."

"I had it tested by forensics," Karasuda informed the court. "And compared the outcomes of using old equipment from 2012 to equipment from this year. This written report will back up Noriko-san's statement—the drug was indeed unable to be picked up by the outdated equipment."

"Please read it to the court," ordered Mahiro, in accordance to the _Code of Criminal Procedure, Article 305_. Atsumu had searched it up when Sakusa had mentioned it in passing.

Karasuda did, only stopping when Mahiro declared that he'd heard enough. The solicitation charge was practically in the bag in Atsumu's opinion. Kuroo Musashi seemed to understand this, too, but the lawyer had bigger fish to fry.

The cross-examination inevitably came around.

"Ah, Noriko-san," Musashi began, pleasantly polite as always. "You stated that you are unsure of the processes my client took to allegedly murder the victim. Is this correct?"

Noriko glowered at him. "That is correct."

"So you have no real way of knowing whether or not Shō-san committed the crime after you gave him the drug."

"No, I... I mean, yes. But it seems fairly obvious to me."

Musashi tutted. "I did not ask you, witness, for your opinion. Did you—or do you—have any way to track what happened to the drug after you gave it to my client?"

"I do not."

"Then is it not safe to say that no traces of the drug were picked up in the victim's body because there _were_ no traces?"

"Objection!" Karasuda growled. "The report the prosecution presented clearly stated that the drug was unable to be detected by the forensic equipment used during the 2012 investigation."

"Yes, which shouldn't make a difference at all. It just proves that if the drug had been administered to the victim, it would not have been detected. Had the drug _not_ been administered, the result would have been the same. The odds for either event are equal."

"But the witness, Noriko-san, testified that the accused had verbally communicated that he intended to kill the victim. The phone call records we played earlier proves that."

" _Intent_ to kill is not the same as _actually_ killing," Musashi pointed out. "In the spur of great emotions such as anger and grief, we are prone to say things we do not mean. To sum it up, it is impossible to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Shō-san used the drug or the weapon against the victim. Nothing further."

Musashi was good. Atsumu didn't have to be knowledgeable in law to see that Karasuda was losing against his rival. He chanced a look at Sakusa—was he worried? No—at least not outwardly. He seemed... _calm_.

Mahiro moved on. "Next—"

Atsumu gripped his knees, fighting the urge to grin in premature victory. _Here it comes._

"—I call Chen Jianhong to the stand as a witness."

"What?!" Shō shouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A little trivia about the Japanese criminal process sprinkled in this chapter. I am taking some creative liberties with the length of the trial (on average, criminal trials last around 13 days) but the information should be accurate. I think. I hope. If it isn't, just chalk it up to my dumbassery.
> 
> In case anyone is wondering why Sho's recorded testimony was not brought up, it's because of Article 38, which was mentioned a few chapters back. The independent court ruled that Sho's confession was acquired under inappropriate circumstances and was rejected.
> 
> In unimportant news, I cut my long hair short, into a bowl cut like Ui Koori's from Tokyo Ghoul (my absolute favorite TG character) lol since it's the middle of summer in Australia rn. Am honoring Goshiki in death AGAAHAHAAHAHA. I look kinda like Dora, though. The one that explores. Hm.
> 
> Yes, the next chapter is called 'Executioner', I am not sorry.


	55. Executioner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial concludes.

**May 25th, 2018**

"Chen-san. You have visitors."

Chen Jianhong cracked one eye open to glower at the guard as the door to his cell swung open. His cellmate twiddled his thumbs, trying his best not to be noticed. "Visitors?" Chen gruffed, sitting up. _Who the fuck would be visiting me? The old man? Yeah right..._

Begrudgingly, Chen allowed the guard to lead him to the visitor room without any trouble, where he would speak to whoever decided to drop by behind a protective screen.

They were suits, the two of them. Pretentious bastards. Who were they, anyway? Chen resisted the urge to spit at their faces as he took a seat in front of them, slumping at the counter.

"Hello, Chen-san," greeted the older of the two. "You may call me Prosecutor Karasuda. This is my colleague," he gestured to the other man, "Prosecutor Sakusa."

 _Prosecutors? Like lawyers?_ "What do you want from me?" Chen demanded.

"We'd like to make you a deal."

 _A deal?_ "I'm listening..."

Karasuda laced his fingers together, an unnervingly affable smile pulling at the corners of his chapped lips.

* * *

**May 31st, 2018**

_"What?!"_

Shō's outburst echoed in the silent courtroom. Every single pair of eyes had turned to him, and Musashi could practically see the blood draining out of his client's face as he wilted in his seat.

 _Well, well, well._ _Things just got interesting._ _Are we in trouble? Heh_. "Please, settle down, Shō-san," Musashi said genially. "I apologize to the court on behalf of my client." He dipped his head to the judging panel. As Mahiro began to talk again, Musashi turned his gaze to the gallery, briefly locking eyes with his son, then his daughter. They weren't sitting together. Rina and Tetsurou probably didn't even recognize one another. A pang of sadness hit his heart, but he shook it away.

In the audience, tucked in the corner seats, a duo hailing from Hyogo Prefecture sat together. Decked head to toe in denim, Suna Rintarou remained impassive as Shō—white as a ghost—tried and failed to relax. He leaned to his left, shoulder resting against Ojiro Aran's broader one.

"What do you think?" whispered Suna.

Aran didn't look at him as he muttered back, "His reaction pretty much proves it, in my opinion."

"Mm."

When the news of Goshiki's fall and the director's confession first broke, Suna had immediately followed up every source online. He'd been keeping up ever since, and as soon as the trial date had been announced, he had called Aran, knowing that his former Inarizaki teammate had known Miya Atsumu—Osamu's twin—for a while. They'd flown all the way from Hyogo on the twenty-ninth, and currently resided in a nearby hotel.

Despite the hard fight for justice the prosecuting team and the public were putting up, Suna couldn't help but think that this had already ended in tragedy. It had taken so much before everybody started getting angry and demanding righteous action. Oikawa and Osamu were dead, another girl had been kidnapped and was probably dead if the confession leaked online had been any indication, and Goshiki was dead, too. Atsumu had dropped out of school, forfeiting his future prospects and now left without his other half.

It irked him, how close he had been orbiting around these dead stars, their explosion dates already predetermined. And Suna—Suna hadn't been able to get away unscathed. Osamu—his lover— _dead_. Aran was lucky—he'd long lost touch with the twins before Osamu's death, and it was probably for the best. If they'd been closer, Aran would've gotten hurt, too.

His fists curled at his sides.

 _Better late than never,_ he would think if he were more optimistic. _But it's too late. Everything's gone to shit._

Suna hadn't been able to bring himself to throw the ring into the ocean.

Perhaps it hadn't quite sunk in yet. Due to their conflicting schedules, Osamu and Suna had been used to spending long amounts of time away from one another. But that'd been with the promise of reconciliation—a promise now broken.

Inevitably, when it hit him, it would hurt even more.

Suna wasn't looking forward to it.

The summoned witness—Chen—trudged his way up to the stand without his usual baseball cap, every bit as surly and brusque as the average street thug.

Karasuda met his fierce eyes without so much a flinch. "Will the witness declare his name and occupation?"

"Chen Jianhong." Chen smirked. "Inmate. I used to work for the old ma— _Shō_ —a decade ago. The last job I had was guarding Oishi Ryoka."

"Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?"

"Heh. Yeah."

"I will remind you that offering false testimony will result in punishment for perjury. Additionally, you have the right to to refuse to answer any questions that may incriminate you or your relatives."

Who _was_ this guy? Suna wondered. And why had Shō freaked out so badly when he saw him? What was their relation? Suna's eyes went round. Was this a _betrayal_ of sorts? His gaze shifted to the back of Atsumu's bleached blond head. Atsumu hadn't seen them sitting down when he'd come in, too engrossed with everything that was happening around him. _Whatever's going on, it's pretty obvious no one was expecting this guy to show up..._

He was curious—what would Chen bring to the table?

"Chen-san, will you please give us a brief summary of your history with the accused?" Karasuda beseeched.

"I was young when we first met," Chen started. "Twenty, at the most. He was basically my mentor and my boss. Nothing more to it. But we grew to trust each other. I've seen the shi— _stuff_ he did, and it's not pretty."

"It is to my understanding that you are responsible for the following video evidences submitted to the court?"

"Assuming that you're talking about what you're talking about... Yes."

Chinen clicked the remote, and the screen changed.

* * *

**May 25th, 2018**

"A USB drive," Chen revealed. "It's in a hidden compartment in my apartment. Underneath my work table. Just press against it three times and it'll open up."

Karasuda lifted his phone up to his ear. "I'll call my team over there right now."

"You kept blackmail?" Sakusa mused as Karasuda excused himself to made his phone call.

"Of course I did." Chen scoffed. "It's the only way to ensure that the old man doesn't cross me. He doesn't know about it, of course, but I'd make damn well sure to let him know if anything ever came up. No one throws me under the bus and gets away with it. _No one_."

Sakusa met his eyes. "Did he come to visit you even once?"

Chen grinned, but it was more like he was just baring his teeth. "No. He _didn't_."

So he sold him out for a reduced sentence.

* * *

**May 31st, 2018**

"The following footage was retrieved from a hard drive owned by the witness," Chinen read out. "As you will see, members of the panel, it clearly incriminates the accused. It contains some disturbing content, but the prosecution has found it necessary to show the panel. The extent of his crimes must not be censored."

She pressed play, and the audience held their breaths.

Tension lining his muscles, Sakusa grimaced, waiting for the video—one that he had watched more than once—to play.

It flickered to life.

There was a girl—no, a _woman_. Tied and gagged and naked and horribly emaciated in the corner of a dimly lit room with no windows.

In one of the seating rows, Kageyama Tobio grew very, very pale.

The video paused.

"This woman is Kageyama Miwa," Chinen narrated, darkly. "She went missing on the fifth of December, 2012. It was only recently that her body was found. She was officially declared deceased on the twenty-seventh of April this year. Despite being missing for six years, forensic evidence shows that the deceased was dead for only five of those years. This footage was recorded during the last year of her life, which was spent in captivity."

Sakusa eyed where Shō was seated, all the blood drained from his cheeks.

Chinen restarted the video again. It buffered for a few seconds before continuing where it had left off.

A man approached from off-screen, his side profile in direct line of the camera. It was Shō. No one could deny that. _"Get up,"_ the Shō on screen said, tiredly. He was holding a tray of food—what looked like rice and boiled meat and vegetables on a plate. There was some miso soup to go along with it. _"I said get up. You have to eat, Kageyama-san."_

"Don't look," Sakusa heard Hinata murmur to Kageyama. "Kageyama, you—you don't have to look."

Sakusa didn't hear a reply.

 _"What if you don't survive?"_ Shō lamented. _"I... I already have too much blood on my hands. You don't understand—I see his face in my dreams every night. He's begging. He's always begging. He says he doesn't want to die. Please, Kageyama-san!"_ His voice rose into a harsh bellow, snatching the gag from her mouth. _"You must live! You must! You must!"_

Sheer disgust made Sakusa's belly curl. Shō—he really was despicable.

Miwa groaned, head lolling on one bony shoulder. _"Let... me... go..."_

_"You know I can't do that. I can't—I'm sorry, but I can't."_

_"I... won't... tell anyone..."_

_"Yes, you will. Anyone would, and you're too kind for your own good, aren't you? Plotting with Takagi to save that brat... You're too kind. I can never let you go. But I don't want you to die either. You don't deserve that."_

Suddenly, Kageyama stood up in the bench. "So why did you kill her?!" he screamed at Shō. "Why did you kill her, you heartless son of a bitch?! _Why?!_ "

"Kageyama, sit down!" Hinata implored.

"Quiet!" thundered Chief Justice Midorima Mahiro. "One more outburst from you and you will be escorted outside."

Grinding his teeth, Kageyama obeyed, knuckles going white from how hard he clutched the sides of his chair.

Sakusa lowered his gaze before looking back up at the screen.

 _"Eat,"_ begged Shō, holding up a spoonful of rice to Miwa's mouth. But she clamped it shut, refusing his offer. _"He'll... He'll break you if you're not strong enough. He's a monster."_

There was a loud pounding noise—someone banging their fist on the door.

On the TV, Shō jumped, glancing back over his shoulder with urgency. He pushed the tray in front of Miwa, seemingly forgetting that her hands were tied, and scurrying away. The rest of the footage, if Sakusa remembered correctly, was just Miwa struggling to eat without the use of her hands. Nothing the court needed to see—he'd seen and felt Miwa's pain and humiliation and it was too horrendously intimate.

"The footage proves that the accused was responsible for kidnapping and holding Kageyama Miwa. Further evidence," Chinen took a paper from her desk, "also proves that the accused was in possession of Kageyama Miwa's dismembered remains for the five years that followed her kidnapping. This autopsy report stated that she had been strangled to death and beaten extensively prior. Additionally, _this_ is a receipt detailing a purchase made on February eighth, 2014 for a freezer. Alongside this purchase is another purchase for a studio apartment at Dreaming Poker Heights. The freezer was kept in the accused's personal storage area in the basement car park."

Karasuda, in control of the remote this time, pressed the forward button. An image of the freezer, including its scale and measurements, came up. "As you can see," he continued, "It's large enough to hold a dismembered human corpse. Security footage from the apartment also shows that the accused has, on multiple occasions, visited the basement and back in what can be aptly described as excessive paranoia." The aforementioned footage played, showing multiple clips of Shō hurrying back and forth between the basement and his apartment. "Though he owned it, the accused did not frequently take up residence in this apartment. However, whenever he visited, he would, without fail, also check on the freezer in the basement. Look here—he is seen opening it and examining the contents.

"Furthermore, the freezer was seized and the forensic team checked the freezer for any DNA remnants. It tested positive to Kageyama Miwa's DNA across every interior surface. Undoubtedly, Kageyama Miwa's remains were kept inside the freezer."

"The remains were recovered during a police investigation into Miya Osamu's murder," Chinen said. "In our criminal profiler's report, it is stated that the perpetrator is in his mid-forties to early-fifties as well as male. It was concluded that the perpetrator intended to pin Kageyama Miwa's death on Miya Osamu, but wasn't able to complete his plan due to a short time window." She read out a summary of the report—from the postmortem cheap rice cooker delivery to the alarm clock. "It is extremely unusual for the perpetrator to set the alarm clock to alert him instead of just using his phone. Here, I will defer to the witness, Chen-san. Chen-san, why did the perpetrator use the alarm clock instead of his phone?"

"Because he was afraid of radio frequency interference. He has an older phone," Chen told the court, blandly. "There were delicate electronics in Miya Osamu's apartment. The whole place was bugged with listening devices. I know this because I was the one who set them up."

"Can you elaborate on that? Why did you set up the listening devices in Miya Osamu's apartment?"

"Because I was ordered to by the man I was working for at that time."

"And who is that man? Can you name him?"

Chen leered over at the defense table. "Shō Shinya."

"And the rice cooker? Can you explain that as well?"

"Yeah. Miya Osamu... was being extorted. The result of his contract, unfortunately."

"You mean this contract? Clause 14." With another press of the button, the screen switched to a picture of the contract, zoomed in on the appropriate section.

"Mm. I helped draft it, so I know. Shō and I raked in all the cash and Miya was virtually living with nothing. He was dirt poor."

Triumphantly, Chinen nodded. "Nothing further."

It was time for the cross-examination. The tension in his shoulders that had eased out throughout Chinen's questioning returned with a fury, and Sakusa stiffened.

"So, how was this footage of Kageyama Miwa obtained?" Musashi asked Chen.

"Easily," snorted Chen. "I was the first person Shō consulted when he met up with the guy who eventually killed her. I knew where she was being held the whole time and I planted a bug there."

Musashi frowned. "You are aware that is a criminal offence?"

"I'm already in prison. I don't care."

"Right. So you admit to the footage being obtained... illegally?"

"Yeah."

"One might question the credibility of the evidence, then—"

"Objection!" Chinen cried. "The evidence was approved by the court and shall be treated like such."

"Sustained," droned one of the justices. "Defense, you will do well not to imply the court's lack of credibility."

Musashi bowed his head. "Of course. The court has my apologies."

"Continue."

Musashi adjusted his tie, addressing Chen once more. "Witness, please enlighten me on the criminal charges that landed you in prison."

Like some bored school kid answering his teacher's question, Chen recited, "Stalking and assault and intimidation."

Pens scribbled across pages in messy scrawls.

"Did you have any special relation to Miya Osamu?" Musashi went on.

"Hmm..." Chen stroked his chin, frowning. "He's memorable to me. Not sure what I was to him, but I remember him well. He was a miserable little kid, and an even more miserable adult. He wasn't a bad kid, though."

"Were you fond of him?"

A shrug. "As fond as I could get. I saw him around a lot."

"So why did you bug his room?"

"Well, that's..." Nervous, Chen began to fidget, foot tapping behind the stand. "It was my job."

"Surely, there must have been some moral conflict on your part."

"Look, I don't ask questions in my job. Plus, it was the old man. Shō. I did it for old time's sake."

"Only for old time's sake? Or is there something you're omitting from me, witness?"

"Because I thought Shō was like _me_!" Chen screeched, snapping under the pressure. "I know I'm a bastard! No one has to tell me that! But I thought he was like me, inviting all those brats on set! I didn't know he was out to find a fucking replacement son! That's why I did it! I didn't want to be alone in this world!"

"Just to clarify, you mean alone in your sexual deviancy which happens to be geared toward prepubescent teenagers?"

"Yes! Goddammit, yes!"

 _That idiot!_ Sakusa groaned internally. _He's saying too much!_ Admitting to being a child predator had just blown his credibility out of the water.

Thankfully, he was soon dismissed. Chen trudged back to the stands, not very pleased that his time in the spotlight was now over. His probity had been affected, but Sakusa couldn't gauge to what extent. _It's coming,_ he thought, mind racing. His fingers tapped on his thigh, Karasuda's mouth moving all too slowly.

"The prosecution calls Sakusa Kiyoomi to the stand as a witness," Karasuda stated.

"Good luck," Atsumu whispered to him. "Go kick their asses, Omi."

 _I will,_ he didn't say.

When he got settled at the stand, Karasuda asked, "Will the witness declare his name and occupation?"

"My name is Sakusa Kiyoomi." Sakusa's voice rang loud and clear in the mostly silent courtroom. "I am a public prosecutor." He stood with his hands hidden behind his back, mask strapped around his chin so that his visage was fully visible.

"Sakusa-san, please describe your relation to both murder cases."

"Last month, in April, Kindaichi Yuutarou—a law student at the University of Tokyo—came to me with previously unaccounted for evidence related to the Oikawa murder case. He and I both investigated, unofficially, into possible suspects." Sakusa paused. "As you may know, my father was Iwaizumi's lawyer back in the past. The reason I took on the investigation with Kindaichi was because of my own personal stakes. It was during this investigation that we questioned Miya Osamu in his apartment. A few days later, he was dead."

"Did you cease your investigation after his death?"

"No, though I was ordered to by the former Prosecutor-General, Hirakawa Noriko." Sakusa lowered his eyes to half-mast. "I found that some things are worth risking my career for. The investigation carried on under wraps."

"That is very admirable, Sakusa-san." The way Karasuda praised his colleague was mechanical, and Sakusa had to arch a brow at the thinly veiled resentment behind the statement. "Was it the investigation that led you to Dreaming Poker Heights on the eighth of May?"

"Yes. After I talked with Miya Atsumu, I figured out who must have killed Oikawa-san. It was the accused, and I chased him through the building before we both ran into Goshiki Tsutomu, who held us both hostage along with four others. I heard the accused with my own ears—he confessed to being the killer. Despite the rejection of his confession as court evidence, I strongly believe that he was, in fact, the murderer of Oikawa Tooru and Miya Osamu."

"How did you come to this conclusion?"

"Confession aside, the accused had the motive," Sakusa explained. "Shō exploited a young Miya Atsumu for ratings on his 2008 show, KidProdigy. When Oikawa Tooru threatened to destroy Shō's reputation by revealing the devil's editing that had been going on behind everyone's backs, Shō killed him to silence him. Shō was also exploiting money from Miya Osamu through the terms of his contract, as proven earlier. With the audio bugs he planted, he realized that Osamu-san, who was also in the know of his shady dealings, was on the verge of spilling everything to me. Again, he killed to silence. The accused is a man who has come to value his career and money more than human life. This is my professional opinion as a public prosecutor." The words were like ash on his tongue.

"Thank you, Sakusa-san. Nothing further."

It was time for the cross-examination again.

Sakusa squared his shoulders, ready for Musashi to barrage him with questions.

"Sakusa-san," Musashi said. "Miya Osamu's apartment could only be accessed using a key card assigned to him and him alone. How would my client have entered the room if Miya Osamu was sleeping inside his apartment when he died? This implies that the key card was _inside_ the apartment during the time of the incident."

"There was more than one key card in circulation," Sakusa informed him. "The landlord's wife, Kuroo Rina, has confessed to giving the accused a second key card. If you check with the prosecution, you will find that Kuroo Rina has submitted a signed statement regarding this matter and will be testifying further along the trial."

"So only two cards were in circulation?" pressed Musashi.

Sakusa sighed inwardly. He'd known this was coming. "No. There is a third card—the original one, which Miya Osamu lost some weeks prior his death. The one he had in his possession was a spare."

"And whose possession was the original key in?"

"I don't know. It was never recovered."

"So it is entirely possible that the third card could have been used by an entirely separate party," Musashi finished.

The rest of Musashi's arguments were mostly of the same sort—he nit-picked every single detail, but Sakusa was not worried. Musashi was providing the jury doubt, yes but Sakusa would say that it was not _reasonable_ doubt. No, anyone with half a brain would eventually realize that everything was lining up too well for it not to be true. Evidence could only be circumstantial for so long before people started to open their eyes to the reality of the situation.

Truly, Musashi's downfall would not be his skills in argument, but his client's undeniable guilt.

Ishigami was called up by the prosecution next, getting up from her chair and moving behind the witness stand. Sakusa nodded at her as he left, padding back to the gallery.

"Will the witness declare her name and occupation?" requested Karasuda.

"Ishigami Yua. I'm the Superintendent of Criminal Investigations 1 of the Miyagi Prefectural Police." Ishigami didn't hide her slasher smile, gloved hands laced together and set on the stand. She went on to tell her side of the story—how Shirabu had contacted her and had her investigate into the evidence archives of the Oikawa murder case—circling back the focus of the discussion to Oikawa as the victim.

Her cross-examination was more lenient than the others'. There was really nothing to pick—despite her unpredictable nature, she had weaponized bureaucracy to her advantage, and had filed foolproof paperwork.

One question from Musashi did make her stumble slightly, however.

"Superintendent Ishigami, why did Dr. Shirabu Kenjirou come to you for help?"

"Ah." Ishigami would not meet a seething Shirabu's eye in the crowd. "I owed him a favor."

"What for?"

"Some years back, Shirabab— _Dr. Shirabu_ provided key evidence into dismissing a case of arson against me."

"Oh? Could you elaborate on the nature of this evidence."

Ishigami deadpanned at him, her good spirit dampened significantly. "Must I?"

"Does the evidence incriminate you or any of your relatives?"

"Well, no... But the thing is—"

"The witness will answer the defense's question," commanded the justice sitting to Mahiro's immediate left.

Ishigami's lips pressed into a line. "A pornographic tape."

Musashi froze. "I beg your pardon?"

"The evidence was a homemade pornographic tape of me and Dr. Shirabu. Both of us consented to its making. The timestamp in the video showed that I was... _preoccupied_ when the arson took place."

A thumping sound to the right attracted Sakusa's attention. Shirabu had let his forehead fall against the banister, Obata struggling to keep a straight face throughout this section of the examination if the way her shoulders shook was any indication.

Musashi, wisely or perhaps for everyone's sake, did not pursue the matter any further. One of the lay judges was beginning to look as green as Midorima's hair.

Smith's testimony was short, sweet, and to the point. He spoke on behalf of both Shirabu and Obata, telling the court of the handwriting tests, blood tests, and DNA samples that all eventually led back to Shō.

Chinen exchanged a few words with Karasuda before calling up Kindaichi to the stand. "Will the witness please declare his name and occupation?"

"M-my name is Kindaichi Yuutarou." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat at the stumble. "I'm currently a postgraduate student studying at the University of Tokyo for my Juris Doctor in law."

"Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"I will remind you that offering false testimony will result in punishment for perjury. You also have the right to to refuse to answer any questions that may incriminate you or your relatives."

Kindaichi nodded. "I understand."

"According to Sakusa-san, you were the one who first brought him previously unaccounted for evidence about the Oikawa murder case. Is this true?"

"Yes. It's true. The evidence was the handwritten confession note from earlier. I discovered it in Oikawa-san's middle school locker."

"What was your relation to the victim?"

Kindaichi chewed on the inside of his cheek. "He was my upperclassman in middle school and high school. I... I looked up to him a lot. I never believed that Iwaizumi was the one who killed him, so I couldn't let it go."

"And where were you on the night of the murder?"

Kindaichi spoke of how he'd come across Oikawa's corpse, half-submerged in the river, on the way home. The trauma of the sight had been enough for his mind to shut down, and by the time the next morning came around, he had no recollection of the event.

"It wasn't until recently," Kindaichi said, "That I remembered."

"And what would you say about Iwaizumi-san's character?"

His response was instant. "He would never kill Oikawa. I can vouch for him. He was a kind and caring upperclassman, and Oikawa... was the most important person in the world to him. Iwaizumi told me that himself."

Chinen had one last question for him. "As someone who was involved in the investigation with Sakusa-san, who do you think was behind Oikawa-san's murder based on what you have discovered?"

"Shō Shinya."

"Thank you. Nothing further."

"Kindaichi-san, it is to my understanding that you discovered the body and nothing more, right?" Musashi asked during the cross-examination.

"That's right."

"So you did not see the actual murder taking place?"

Kindaichi frowned deeply, wracking his brain. "No, but I did see something suspicious. I remember... I remember seeing the accused coming from the crime scene! Yeah!" This was not part of what they'd gone through with the witnesses—he must have recalled this bit of information just then.

Musashi asked him a few more questions to poke holes in his testimony—most of which centred around his power of recollection. It was a stretch to deem Kindaichi's memory as reliable, and Musashi exploited this to his advantage.

"Look, I'm telling you," Kindaichi said, exasperated. "I am _not_ misremembering things. I saw him that night."

"But you don't deny your history of memory troubles?"

"I—no." Kindaichi lowered his head. "I don't."

"Nothing further."

 _Tch_. Sakusa scowled. It was a scummy thing to do, but a sound tactic. Hopefully, Kindaichi wouldn't take Musashi's implications to heart.

Kindaichi left the stand, replaced by Kunimi, who drawled out his name and profession after being prompted by Chinen.

"I'm Kunimi Akira. I'm a postgraduate student studying counselling psychology at the University of Tokyo."

"Kunimi-san, where were you on the night of Oikawa Tooru's death?" Chinen inquired after reading him his rights.

Perhaps a little nervously, Kunimi ran his fingers through his newly dyed hair. "I was at home," he said. "Finishing up my homework when Kindaichi showed up at my door. It would've been... around half past nine in the evening? Yeah."

"What happened after Kindaichi-san appeared at your home?"

Kunimi sighed heavily. "He had a breakdown." The testimony corroborated with Kindaichi's. "He was crying and shaking and—and things got a little violent. Nothing too serious, but he was obviously very shaken from what he'd seen before coming here."

"Did he tell you what he saw?"

"Yes. He saw... He saw Oikawa's _body_. In the river."

"What was your next course of action?"

Kunimi shifted, rubbing his shoulder. "I knocked him out with a lamp. Hit him on the back of the head with it. It was the only thing I thought of that could stop him from leaving the house. I didn't want him to run into the killer and get himself murdered. After that, I panicked. I called the first contact I pressed on, which happened to be Iwaizumi's."

At the prosecution stand, Iwaizumi's handcuffs clinked almost inaudibly, stirring as if he had been awoken back into the world by this admission.

Chinen turned to the justices and the lay judges. "The panel should note that Kunimi-san's phone call was submitted for approval to the court back then, but was somehow rejected due to being deemed irrelevant to the case. Kunimi-san was also neglected as a potential witness during the 2012 investigation and was never called in to testify on Iwaizumi's behalf."

The judges ducked their heads, writing on their notepads.

"This certainly brings up questions about the integrity of the investigation," concluded Chinen. "The investigation which found Iwaizumi-san guilty in 2012. Nothing further."

"Kunimi-san," Musashi addressed, picking up where Chinen had left off promptly. "Why did you not volunteer yourself as a witness during the 2012 investigation?"

"I was scared," Kunimi said, as if it were an obvious thing. And it was, but Musashi would find some way to punish him for it anyway. "All I wanted was to move on from the tragedy. I... I didn't want Kindaichi to remember, either, since he had repressed his memories of the event. I thought that it would be better to live the rest of our lives in blissful ignorance, but I regret ever thinking like that. It was wrong."

"Forgive my bluntness, but you are saying that it was your own cowardice that prevented you from coming forward?"

"... That is correct."

Addressing the judging panel, Musashi said, "The integrity of the investigating team shouldn't not be entirely judged based on the members' actions. The lack of action from key witnesses should also be taken into consideration. Nothing further."

Kunimi narrowed his eyes but held his tongue.

When the time came for Atsumu to step up to the witness stand, Sakusa's stomach became a knot. The blond introduced himself to the court, looking more serious than Sakusa was used to seeing him.

"I was a contestant on KidProdigy in 2008. He used me," Atsumu proclaimed at Chinen's prompting, using what could be considered his classroom voice. "To up his ratings. I had ta go along with it."

"And why did you have to go along with it?"

"My dad was abusive," Atsumu said, bluntly. "Ma... She wanted the fame. And 'Samu... _Osamu_..." Here, he released a breath. "He hated our dad. He needed an out. So I let it happen. For their sake."

Atsumu told the court his story. Somehow, for Sakusa, it was even more difficult to hear it the second time than the first. In the hospital, it had been little more than an impromptu interrogation. Sakusa had chased the final piece of the puzzle, but now that the bigger picture had been completed... Things were more personal now.

By the time he had finished, he looked drained of all energy. Atsumu had his arms folded across his chest, fingers digging into his biceps. After this, Sakusa decided, they definitely needed to go unwind.

Musashi didn't make things any easier for him, either, pulling apart every detail like he tended to do.

"The call cut off before you could hear anything?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Then you have virtually no way of identifying who was at the site with Oikawa-san?"

Atsumu glowered at the lawyer. "No. I don't. But ain't it obvious? He has the motive. Oikawa was meeting up with him that night, and our text messages prove it!"

"There are several windows of time where Oikawa-san could have encountered the perpetrator. There is no certainty that it was my client. Nothing further."

Bullshit, but also irrefutable fact. No one had been physically present to witness the murder happen. Thus, there was always going to be room for doubt. But, nevertheless, Atsumu's testimony would be valuable in the eyes of the justices.

The trial was coming to a head. The prosecution exchanged more words, Chinen and Karasuda swapping papers while Iwaizumi sat in pensive silence. They came to a decision, and Chinen raised her voice. "The prosecution calls witness Hirakawa Noriko back to the stand for further questioning."

Elegantly postured, Noriko sashayed behind the stand, Atsumu skirting around the other side to return to his spot next to Sakusa.

"Hirakawa-san, please describe the relationship between you and your father," Chinen probed gently.

Noriko took a deep breath. "I hold... Nothing but _hatred_ for him. I _despise_ my father. Ever since I was a child, he would...!" She gritted her teeth. "He beat my mother and raped her. And he did the same to me." Dam broken, the words were coming out in a rush—she was afraid that, if she spoke slower, she would lose her resolve. "My 'father' is a rapist and a murderer!"

"Did you ever try to run away?"

"No. I was too scared."

"Of course your own safety?"

"Yes. But also my mother's and sister's." Her bangs curtained her face. Noriko pushed them out of the way. "One night, when I was seventeen, he murdered by mother. He was beating her, like he usually did, but he went too far. She _died_. It was just my sister and I, then. I couldn't let her die, too, so I obeyed my father's every word."

"So disobeying your father meant that your sister would perish?"

"There was the risk of that. And it wasn't a risk I was willing to take. He _explicitly_ threatened me with her many times. I took them all seriously."

"And where was your sister throughout all of this?"

This was it—the reveal that would start strangling Daizen for good.

"Locked in the basement under our house," Noriko told. "I have no idea what he did to her down there. But I have... seen how she is now. She's beyond recovery. A police search should find traces of her existence there."

"Thank you, Hirakawa-san. Nothing further."

When she walked back to her place, she no longer exhuded her elegance. She wouldn't even meet her father's eye, legs trembling as she passed the defense counsel's bench and gaze fixed on the floor.

Sakusa sneaked a glance at Daizen. His lips were bloodless, hands palming the table and twitching. _He's losing it._

"The prosecution calls Kuroo Rina to the stand," Karasuda's call broke into Sakusa's thoughts.

Musashi's features remained flat when his daughter testified, either ignoring the way Daizen was glaring daggers at her or completely unaware. Kuroo Rina walked with swinging hips and radiated a confidence that no other witness had so far. She was probably the one with the least amount of stakes in this whole debacle, even if she was directly connected to Daizen.

"Will the witness declare her name and occupation?" asked Karasuda, hands clasped behind his back.

"Kuroo Rina," Rina introduced herself, coolly. "I'm a freelancing actress."

The rights and reminders were announced, and Karasuda wasted no time in proceeding with the questioning. "But you have been working under Hirakawa Daizen for the past ten years, have you not?"

"Mmhm. Ever since I was twenty-one. But that doesn't mean I'm not a freelancer. I just happened to be under a long-term contract."

Karasuda's brow crumpled. "In your profile, it states that you are signed with an agency under HNN Foundation."

"Yes, but I'm a freelancer at heart." Rina winked. "By everything except technicality."

"Very well." Karauda seemed like he wanted to scream at her but swallowed it down for the sake of his own integrity. It would do to have an aneurysm in court. "What is your role as described in the contract?"

"It was a simple role. I played Hirakawa Shion, daughter of Hirakawa Daizen."

"No," Daizen burst out, "No, stop the examination. This is a breach of her contract. I won't stand for this!"

" _Quiet_ ," Mahiro spoke, cuttingly. "The binding legitimacy of the contract between you and the witness is overruled in criminal trial."

He got to his feet. "You can't be serious, Mahiro—!"

"Sit _down_ , Hirakawa Daizen, or the court will hold you in contempt."

Snarling, Hirakawa dropped his whole weight back into his chair—it squeaked against the flooring.

The questioning portion resumed. "Witness, what kind of things did the role require you to do?"

"Oh, pretty simple stuff," Rina said, blasé as ever. "I just had to show up to important events and walk around Head Office occasionally. My boss didn't want me showing my face too much, in case somebody actually recognized me behind all the bling, but I let the press see me now and again. Y'know, to make sure I was still kicking."

How morbid.

They had found Hirakawa Shion in a state of utter mental deterioration.

The doctors said that she would live the rest of her life as little more than a vegetable.

"So, in conclusion," Karasuda said at the end of the examination. "You, for the last ten years, have played the role of Hirakawa Shion."

"Yep."

Throughout it all, Shō observed Rina as if he had seen a ghost. Then, strangely, the color returned to his cheeks, and there was something like _resignation_ that shrouded his hunched form. Sakusa drew up to his full height in his chair, in anticipation of what Shō would do next. _Come on,_ he implored silently. _Do it, you cowardly bastard. You should know by now... What kind of power this has given you. Do it!_

"Next, the accused will be questioned." Mahiro peered down at Shō. "Step up to the stand."

Shō obeyed, keeping his head down.

To the defense counsel, Mahiro added, "You may proceed."

"Thank you, your honor. Shō-san—"

"Wait," Shō interrupted. "There is something I need to say."

"What is it?"

Sakusa inched forward. _Say it. Say it, say it, say it_ —

"I... plead guilty."

"What?!" Not even Musashi could hide his shock. "Shō-san, please—"

"No. It's true. I killed them. I killed Osamu and Oikawa. I took Kageyama Miwa away. I let Hirakawa Daizen kill her. I ran that kid over, too. I remember now. I... did all of it."

The great weight that had been pressing harshly into Sakusa's chest lifted. _And there it is._ For a moment, he had thought that Shō would stick to his guns until the end.

"You lie!" Daizen clamored. "It's all lies! How _dare_ you, after I—!" One glare from Mahiro had him biting his tongue. But his entire body still trembled with rage—Sakusa could see, and the audience, too, were not blind to it.

Hirakawa Daizen was starting to show his true self.

"I'm sorry, Noriko," Shō continued, pressing on despite Daizen's vengeful outburst. "Nothing can save me now. But I can still save _you_. From _him_. Hirakawa Daizen came to me after I killed Oikawa and took Kageyama. He knew. He knew what I'd done and he said he would make it go away and forgive Noriko if I let him have Kageyama. So I did. He's a bloodthirsty _psychopath_. But I had to. I had to save my daughter. I had to save Noriko!"

Mahiro held up a hand. "The court accepts your confession."

Hirakawa Noriko. Always needing to be saved. Sakusa couldn't even hold it against her anymore. It had grown too tiresome for him to do so. No matter how powerful or how clever she became, Hirakawa Noriko would always need to be saved. His eye caught Midorima's. The green-haired man looked away.

"There is one final piece of evidence we would like to show the court," Chinen announced as the astonishment died down. "The prosecution deems it relevant in light of the accused's confession. What you are about to see is the video diary of Goshiki Tsutomu—the man who committed suicide after holding several people at gunpoint this year. It is important for everyone to understand that this man was undeniably affected by the actions of the accused, specifically those related to his negligent driving and hit and run charges. Please treat it as a victim impact statement."

The video played.

There was a once a boy who had been loved.

But the monster inside him had grown large, fed and fattened on isolation and rejection.

It was agonizing to watch—a little under ten minutes of content, it felt like an age before the video diary compilation finally ended.

"That is all." Chinen swallowed. "Nothing further."

Musashi did not debate the evidence.

"The examination of the evidence is complete," Mahiro said. "Public prosecutor, please present your closing arguments."

Karasuda read out the prosecution's closing arguments, Chinen beginning to pack some of their papers away. At the end, Karasuda stated, "To reiterate, the prosecution considers the death penalty for the double-homicide, three years of imprisonment for solicitation, eight years of imprisonment for negligent driving leading to injury, and a fine of five million yen for the hit and run as appropriate punishment for the accused."

Not long after, Musashi delivered the defense's closing arguments, and then the floor was Mahiro's again.

"Before we conclude these trial proceedings, do you have anything you would like to say to the court?" he asked Shō.

Shō shook his head. "Only that I am guilty. I can't do anything except apologize to you all. To everyone... Who I've ever hurt."

Sakusa's jaw clenched. How predictable, he had been in the end. But it was too late to show humanity now, when he refused to impart the same humanity when they'd still been alive. Nobody would ever forgive him for what he had done.

As soon as the judges removed themselves from the courtroom to consult one another, accompanied by the creak of chairs, the room descended into noisy whispers.

"A confession." Atsumu was dumbstruck. "He confessed? But why? Why go through all the trouble to defend himself?" He huffed at Sakusa. "And why aren't ya more surprised, Omi-Omi?"

"Because," Sakusa said easily, breezing past the nickname. "Everything went according to plan."

"What? Oh, _hell_ , ya _do_ realize ya sound like some cheap anime villain, right—?"

A few rows back, Yagami Light sneezed.

Sakusa eyeballed Atsumu. "It's _true_."

"You knew he was going to confess in court?" Kindaichi ogled him. "How?"

Quite grimly, Sakusa replied, "He's a deluded son of a bitch who's grappling with his broken moral compass. He killed his own 'son' in a fit of greed and fear and realized how much of a scumbag he is. I bet that he's been trying to find some sort of atonement all this time. His last resort? To be a martyr."

"Okay, but why now?" Kunimi chimed in. "Why not earlier?"

"Hirakawa Noriko," Sakusa simply said, as if it explained everything. When they just continued to look at him, he elaborated, "She's the only person he has left. If it means protecting her and making her happy, he would probably be willing to die at this point. As soon as Kuroo Rina came out, Shō realized he had the power to be the final nail in the coffin for Daizen." Daizen, who was pale as a sheet over by the defense table. _Good. He deserves to rot in hell for everything he's done_.

The judges returned, and everyone fell into a hushed silence.

Mahiro held their attention, eyes steely behind the frames of his glasses.

It was time for judgement to handed out.

Sakusa inhaled.

He could hear his heart pounding between his ears.

"The court hereby renders its judgment," declared the Chief Justice. "The accused, Shō Shinya, is sentenced to the death penalty for two counts of homicide, one count of solicitation, one count of kidnapping, one count of hiding a corpse, one count of negligent driving causing injury, and one count of hit and run. Additionally, Hirakawa Daizen will be taken into custody immediately, and an official investigation will be launched. Court costs shall be borne by the accused. The highest order of compensation will also be provided to Iwaizumi Hajime by the government."

And Sakusa knew it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard the gavel of justice slamming down on the surface.

"No!" Daizen howled, jumping up in one swift motion with his teeth bared. His composure had been slowly unraveling during the trial, but it was nevertheless polarizing to see the usually calm man fly into a frenzy. "You _filthy traitor_! I _made_ you! _I_ built you up into the man you are today! You would be _nothing_ without me! _Nothing!_ "

All nine judges were already standing and preparing to leave through the back entrance. Sakusa didn't expect for Mahiro to dignify Daizen's wild accusations with a response, but he did.

"No," refuted Mahiro, calmly. "You are mistaken. I have always been my own man."

His robes fluttered as he whipped around, not even deigning a glance back at Daizen.

* * *

_Holy shit. Is this really happening?_

Kindaichi didn't even blink as Mahiro declared Shō guilty, officers also moving in to arrest Daizen, who was still roaring at Mahiro's supposed betrayal. They exited the courtroom, and everyone else made to get up and start dispersing, too.

"Come on," Kunimi urged, probably eager to see Iwaizumi up close.

Being seated at the frontrow, they shuffled after the people, having to slow to a stop as everyone meandered through the double doors. They spent a while being tossed around in the sea of people before, finally, they managed to move to the side in the lobby.

It was just in time for Daizen and Shō to circle around with their police guards as well. Kindaichi watched them go past with eyes narrowed hatefully. Iwaizumi was somewhere behind them but Kindaichi couldn't quite see him yet.

_"Get away from me!"_

All of a sudden, Daizen lashed out with a mighty shout, bashing the crown of his head against the chin of a guarding officer and wrenching away from them. Hands still cuffed behind his back, Daizen dashed forth.

"He's getting away!" yelled Kindaichi, dashing around the group of gathered people and after him. But the two armed guards, now recovered, were faster, and they soon outpaced him.

The only person in Daizen's path was a woman wearing a black jacket over her red-collared shirt, purse slung over her shoulder. Daizen would bowl her over and make for the doors—Kindaichi could see it happening already.

They reached out for him, but not before—

Kindaichi stopped running. _Wait, isn't she...?_

Daizen shrieked and toppled when the woman stuck out her foot, sending him to the ground with a painful thud. The guards—the public nipping at their heels—caught up to them as Makoshima Naoko stepped on the back of Daizen's head; she crushed the flat of his nose against the tiled floor with a thunderous expression marring her delicate features. "Where do you think you're going, you miserable _rat_?" she spat, high heel digging into the back of his neck.

The man squealed, wriggling on the floor like a wounded animal.

Naoko peered over her shoulder, seemingly unimpressed at the police officers rushing to get Daizen back into custody. Then she saw Kindaichi—Sakusa, Kunimi and Atsumu trailing close behind him. Numerous observers had gathered as well, some of them with their phones out despite the 'no electronics turned on' sign in the hall. "Sorry I'm late to the party." The apology bordered somewhere between forced and flippant. "I couldn't get away from work."

Sakusa sagged, looking as if the past three minutes had sucked the life out of him. "No need. You arrived... fashionably."

She removed her foot off of Daizen's head. The police guards lifted him off the ground and walked him away. "I take it that things are over already?" She sighed, dusting her hands. "Figures."

Shocked by what had just ensued and hungry for drama, the media folk rushed toward her, hounding her for questions. Taken aback by their sudden advancements, Naoko glared.

"Ma'am, excuse me, ma'am—"

"Over here!"

"Who are you?!"

"How did it feel, taking down Hirakawa Daizen like that?"

"How were you even able to do that?"

"No comment!" barked Naoko, but they kept pressing forward.

Kindaichi felt bad for her, but something else had caught his attention.

A guard twisted his key into Iwaizumi's handcuffs.

He gasped as he saw the handcuffs come off, but his view was obscured by a surge of reporters that had barreled through the front entrance—those who had not made it into the courtroom.

"Kindaichi-san!"

"It's the hero of Japan!"

"Oi," Kunimi snapped when one guy got too close. "Back off and go pick somebody else's flesh, you camera-flashing creeps! And quit it with that stupid nickname!"

The crowd jostled them around, but all Kindaichi could think of was Iwaizumi's freedom and how Sakusa would be mortified at the excessive bodily contact. "No comment," Kindaichi kept repeating under his breath as he pushed past everyone with Kunimi close behind. "No comment, no comment... Sorry, no comment."

They broke through the crowd.

* * *

The handcuffs came off.

Iwaizumi stared at his empty wrists, reeling from the knowledge that they would probably be bare for the rest of his life. He looked up at one of the guards, but he couldn't meet his eye. It was as if the officer was ashamed. Absently, Iwaizumi rubbed his wrists, the phantom feeling of cuffs still lingering.

The noise around him was nothing more than a buzz in his ears as Iwaizumi stepped away from the crowd, head ducked so he wouldn't attract the attention of the reporters. Luckily, they all seemed to be focused currently on Naoko of all people.

Naoko.

 _God_.

Iwaizumi swallowed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted so terribly to just run up to her and hug her tightly. Naoko—the only person who had ever visited him over the years after his parents had been blacklisted. Naoko was here and she was being harassed by reporters and that sour pout on her face as she resisted the urge to cuss at all of them was _hilarious_.

He'd catch up with her later.

For now, he just drifted, almost aimless in his wandering.

"Iwa... Iwaizumi?"

He turned at the sound of his name, eyes going wide. "Kindaichi! Kunimi!" he blurted. Dear lord, they were so _tall_. It shouldn't have affected him so badly but it made it all the more easier for the tears to spring up.

Kindaichi's mouth opened and closed, at a total loss for words.

And Kunimi—Kunimi didn't even _try_.

Without wasting a moment, Kunimi lunged at Iwaizumi, the latter barely able to open his arms up in time to accept his hug. Somehow, although Kunimi had practically thrown his whole body weight at him, Iwaizumi managed to hold his ground. He laughed—joy ringing in the sound—and squeezed Kunimi. His hair was blue now. _Blue_. And such an ostentatious shade of the color, too. Kunimi had never been one for showing off back in high school, but it was not an unpleasant surprise to see that he had changed.

While Kunimi was much taller than Iwaizumi now, he felt like a child in his arms.

"Don't ever do that again," Kunimi growled, voice thick, as if it had been Iwaizumi's own fault that he had gotten thrown into prison for the past six years. He relaxed in his grip as he said the words, and Iwaizumi couldn't reply, words stuck in his throat. "Dammit. _Goddammit_."

Kindaichi approached them with ginger steps, reaching out a hand. Then he hesitated, unsure of where to put it.

But Kunimi and Iwaizumi parted eventually, and Kindaichi appraised him.

"You know," Iwaizumi found his voice, "You don't have to say anything." Biting his lip, he threw out his arms. "Fucking hell— _c'mere, Kindaichi_."

Iwaizumi could see the moment Kindaichi's restraint broke. With as much fervor as Kunimi, Kindaichi embraced him, pressing his palms against his shoulder blades experimentally as if he were testing whether or not Iwaizumi would remain solid.

"Finally," Kindaichi said, voice muffled. Iwaizumi could feel a wet spot growing on fabric above his shoulder. " _Finally_."

Sighing, Iwaizumi placed one hand on the back of Kindaichi's head. "I missed you guys." _All of you guys._ In passing, he wondered how the rest of his teammates were faring. Were they like Kindaichi and Kunimi, or had they forgotten about him?

Watari emerged from the crowd with a young teen by his side. _Takeru_. _God, is that really him?_ He was... He'd grown up. Of course he had—Takeru wasn't going to stay young forever, but—

But nothing.

 _I've been gone from this world for so long_.

Iwaizumi sniffled, the burn behind his eyes stronger than ever.

"Soon," mouthed Watari, Takeru not saying anything. "Soon."

Iwaizumi understood. They weren't ready yet. But they would be, eventually.

Watari and Takeru disappeared back into the crowd, dodging journalists still entranced with poor Naoko. To her relief, some of them had gone after Daizen and Shō as well, demanding interviews from the convicted men.

Kindaichi's arms fell around him, and the two men stood back.

"I'm so glad," Kindaichi told him, struggling for the right things to express himself. "I... I don't even know what to do, I'm just so fucking glad you wouldn't even believe it."

Kunimi wiped a tear away with one finger, sniffing. "You're so shit with words, Kindaichi." But there was no malice in his tone—never was when it came to Kindaichi. They were like brothers in a sense.

_Brothers..._

Before that train of thought could even begin to move, frantic footfall reached his ears. Blinking, Iwaizumi wheeled around, feeling his heart stutter in his chest. _No... No way. Could it really be...?_

Satoshi was holding a gigantic Godzilla plush toy in a choke-hold. His hair flopped over his eyes the same way it had when he'd been twelve and moody and addicted to video games. Oh, how Iwaizumi had told him off—had nagged him to pause his silly first-person shooters and ignored all of his protests of his games unable to be halted and made him do his homework so he could hand it in on time—

Satoshi was staring at him, mouth parted slightly.

Iwaizumi marched forward, not noticing Kindaichi and Kunimi's questioning looks. He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of the man who just had to be his brother. He was tall. Taller than him. _Too_ tall.

The first thing Iwaizumi said to him, blunt as a hammer, was: "How tall are you?"

"Six foot," Satoshi answered without hesitation. With a cheeky tilt of the head, he added, "Two. Six foot two."

"You fucking _bastard_ ," Iwaizumi whispered, voice cracking on the last syllable. Without warning, he pulled Satoshi into a hug, the Godzilla toy squishing between them. Vaguely, he was aware of Satoshi beginning to quietly sob.

"Six years!" cried Satoshi, face screwing up. "Six _fucking_ years, Hajime!"

"I know," Iwaizumi said, shoving his mien into Godzilla's plush arm and staining it with tears. It smelled new. Had Satoshi bought it just for him? Of course he had. _Of course_. Violently, Iwaizumi's shoulders wracked. He'd missed out on six years of Satoshi's life. Had never gotten to see him grow up into the man he was today, had never gotten to see him navigate the rough waters of adolescence. Nothing in the world would ever give him those lost years back, and it left a deep, bitter ache in his heart.

_I'll never let you go again, Satoshi. We'll stick together from now on._

"... Hajime?"

He almost didn't hear her at first.

Iwaizumi's gaze slid to the left, at where Naoko was standing, straight-backed and composed as always. Somehow, she had escaped the media vultures. Or perhaps they'd just run out of questions. There were so many things he wished to say to her, but nothing came to fruition right now. He continued to cling to his younger brother, hoping Naoko could see his grin and that it wasn't half-hidden by Godzilla's arm.

Then—

Naoko _crumbled_. She sucked in a harsh breath, holding her hands to her mouth in a fruitless attempt to hide her emotions. But, in the end, it was in vain. Iwaizumi had never seen her cry before. Somewhere along the lines of their friendship, Naoko had become his pillar of strength, untouchable and and infallible. The sight of her—her seemingly endless strength sapped away in this precious moment—made his gut clench.

"Thank god," Naoko wept, softly. "Thank _god_."

They were bawling—all of them, unashamedly.

He loved them so _much_.

All of them.

So Iwaizumi cried—cried with them, alongside them.

* * *

Kindaichi's eyes were swollen.

They walked together, in a group.

Him, Kunimi, Naoko, and Iwaizumi and his brother.

Kindaichi hung his head, feet starting to drag. _Man. It's all over._

The distance between him and Naoko, Kunimi, Satoshi, and Iwaizumi grew further but he made no effort to catch up to them. Instead, he craned his neck, watching the storm clouds roll in over the city. It would be raining sometime soon, he reckoned.

_I can't believe it's really over._

The whole past month and a half had been Kindaichi's own personal hell, he felt. It was hard to reconcile with the fact that this rollercoaster of a ride was finally finished. They'd won. But seeing Iwaizumi banter with Satoshi, tears still shining in his eyes...

_I wish I could've done more for them._

Abruptly, Kindaichi lurched forward with a surprised grunt—Sakusa had thumped him on the back with one strong hand. "What the...? Sakusa...?"

"You did well." He said it like it was a cold, hard fact. Sakusa's mask was pulled down in a rare display of familiarity. He smiled—not the kind of condescending half-smiles and smirks that Kindaichi was used to associating with him. It was kinder than any incarnation of a smile he had ever seen on his face—pale, gentle sunshine. "Kindaichi. _Thank you_."

At first, Kindaichi just stared at him. Where had he even come from? He dismissed the thought quickly.

Then he laughed. He threw back his head and laughed, tears welling up in his eyes all too quickly once more and rolling down his cheeks. "You...!" Kindaichi couldn't even find the words for this moment. All he knew was that it made him feel _strong_.

 _Get up_ , Sakusa had said without even verbalizing it. _Get up and keep going because you're strong_. _Stronger than anyone gives you credit for_.

Sakusa seemed to understand his reaction, standing with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat as he waited for Kindaichi to let it all out.

At last, the tears ceased, and Kindaichi was grinning so hard he felt as if his mouth would split open at any time.

He wanted to holler at the sky, wanted to whoop and cry ecstatically and punch into the air.

So he did.

Kunimi glanced backward, eyebrows lifting in wondrous amusement.

But Kindaichi didn't care.

He was standing on top of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: One more chapter left (with Miya family stuff and Sakusa, Terano getting sold out and doxxed, an official apology from the NPA done by Light Yagami, and some good times together) before the epilogue(s)! The story is almost done! It's almost been a year since I first started this story, and... Wow. It's almost over. Time sure flies, huh?
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing this, even though I'm kinda super burnt out at this point. This story has flung me back and forth from "i am THE SHIT B)" to "i am a shit writer :(" and I feel like my metaphorical spine has just snapped into two. I know I shouldn't use fanfiction as a measure of success (or lack of thereof, depending on perspective), but I can't help it. I'm balls deep in this craft and I love it too much.
> 
> This trial has been an absolute pleasure as well as a total pain to write and this isn't even including trying to balance realism with dramatization. A part of me is disappointed in how it turned out, but it was so much of a slog that I can't even bring myself to care that much right now. Nevertheless, I hope you've enjoyed the journey.
> 
> The story will be continued in the sequel, which should be much shorter than this story and only serves to tie things up nicely.
> 
> Haven't said this in a while, but comments are super loved and appreciated. Thank you for reading Shard Society.


	56. Our Lives Crossed in Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner and a few too many drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: During a celebratory dinner, their indignant chauffeur ditches them. After this chapter is the epilogue(s) that wrap everyone and everything up!

**May 31st, 2018**

Sakusa watched Kindaichi go after his group with promise to catch up a little later, content. As they became a speck in the distance, Sakusa turned back around and padded back inside the court, searching for Atsumu. He didn't want to keep hanging around here if he could help it—he wanted to be back in the sterile safety of his car and on the way home.

But there was no sign of him anywhere.

Irritation prickling down his spine, Sakusa dialed the blond's number.

No answer.

He tried again.

Still no answer.

 _I swear, if he got himself kidnapped or something..._ In hopes of staving off his impatience, he dialed a different number this time. To his surprise, his mother did not pick up either. Sakusa wasn't too concerned, though—his mother had a rather active social life nowadays, which was the least she deserved. At least Sakusa could trust the local housewives not to be backstabbers of the high society caliber. _She's probably off playing mahjong again. I'll call her later._ For now, he needed to find Atsumu and kick his ass all the way to the car. Additionally, Sakusa wasn't stingy by any stretch, but he would rather not have to pay the upgraded parking fee so they needed to leave _now_.

"Miya!" Sakusa called. He paused, then tried again. "Atsumu!" The name rolled off his tongue nicely. Smoothly. Briefly, he wondered why he hadn't used it in the first place, even though Atsumu had insisted on it. "Atsumu...!" He caught a glimpse of blond hair. Dodging reporters with practiced skill, Sakusa jogged up to Atsumu. "You..." He trailed off, realizing that Atsumu was with someone.

A woman with brown hair that was just starting to gray at the roots.

Miya Akari.

They were standing perhaps a foot or two apart from each other, the woman's grip on her handbag so tight her knuckles were starting to balk and protrude. Sakusa came up behind Atsumu, keeping a respectable distance away from them.

This was not his place to intervene.

He would only observe.

Atsumu swallowed. "Ma."

If possible, Akari's cheeks went even paler than they already were. It made the rouge on her skin stand out even more—like blood stains on snow.

"It's been a while," Atsumu said, awkward and bumbling. He couldn't quite meet her gaze but he was certainly trying his best to maintain eye contact. "Um... How have ya bee—?"

Akari raised a hand, wobbling on her heels. _"Don't."_

Atsumu blinked, hurt evident in his eyes. "But, ma, I—"

"Don't!" she snapped. "I said—I said _don't_. Don't... come a step closer."

A look of horror dawned over Atsumu's face. "Ma, ya can't be—but I—I—I'm not _dad_." He chewed on his lip, trying his luck by scooting a little closer to her. "'Samu... 'Samu's gone now... But... But I'm still here, ma. Ma?"

Akari's expression was blank.

"Ma, yer scarin' me. Ma, please—"

"He's not _gone_ ," Akari interrupted. "My Osamu-baby... He's not gone! That funeral... It was all a farce! It has to be! I didn't... It wasn't supposed to be him! It... It was supposed to be _you!_ "

Sakusa felt his blood run cold. _She's delusional._ Her grief was eating her up from the inside—she was imploding, and Atsumu— _Atsumu_ —

"You're dead to me!" Akari screamed. "How dare you show your face here when your brother is dead?! Why did _you_ have to live?!"

Atsumu was now as white as her. "Ma—"

" _Don't_ call me that. My son is _dead_ and you are not _him_."

"I don't understand—"

_"You're not my son."_

For what seemed like an age, Sakusa could only hear ringing in his tears. He was vaguely aware of the people passing by, of the rage boiling in his veins. But then Atsumu straightened like a rod had been inserted into his back, and the world cleared up.

Atsumu—

Atsumu _understood_.

_There really... isn't any hope, is there?_

"I think," Atsumu said, slowly, cold fury lacing each word. "I've been waiting my whole life to hear those words." With that, he whipped around and marched off. He did not acknowledge Sakusa, but the prosecutor kept pace with him anyway.

Atsumu didn't look back, but Sakusa did.

Akari was staring at nothing.

He turned back around, chasing after Atsumu when he realized that the blond was now several strides ahead of him.

"Are you okay?" asked Sakusa.

"Of course I am." Atsumu scoffed, but it was weak. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"She doesn't know what she's talking about. Your mother—"

"Weren't ya listenin'?"

Atsumu halted, the muscles in his face tightening and his features drew into a frown.

Sakusa slowed to a stop behind him.

"She's not my mother."

It was probably best not to push the issue further. Accepting this, Sakusa and Atsumu walked back to the car in silence. It was raining outside. Atsumu had shirked into his hoodie, hunched over and brooding.

Sakusa was pulling out of the car park when he worked up his nerve to try again. "It can't be easy," he said, carefully.

Atsumu glanced out the window, eyes dull as he observed the rain drops hitting the car window. "There were only two things I ever wanted to hear from her, and I heard one of 'em today. It's a win for me."

 _Is it, though?_ "What was the other one?"

Atsumu didn't reply.

Brushing off his lack of response, Sakusa cruised down the road. A left turn needed to be made, but the light turned red. The car rolled to a stop, pedestrians crossing the road with umbrellas over their heads.

"I love you."

Sakusa flinched, eyes widening. "What?"

"It was 'I love you'," Atsumu repeated.

Sakusa said nothing, for which he knew Atsumu was grateful for. He kept his gaze fixed in front of him, pretending that it was none the wiser of the blond's tears streaming down his cheeks.

At last, he turned the car around and said, "Let's go for a drink."

* * *

"God, that felt like a nightmare."

Aran gazed sideways at his friend, Suna, as the latter stretched. "We won," he pointed out, wondering if Suna had hallucinated throughout the entire trial. "Ya do know that, right? By the way, why didn'tcha say hi ta Atsumu?"

Suna dropped his gaze. "I... I don't think I'm ready to see his face up close yet."

Oh. Aran understood. Regretted even asking in the first place. "Well, alright," he said warmly. "Where do ya wanna go next? Wanna go get dinner?"

Suna shrugged, listless. "Yeah, sure, I guess. Sorry, I'm just so... drained right now."

Aran patted his back sympathetically. "I know. Some grub would be good for ya. On me, okay?"

There was a shadow of a smile on Suna's lips. "Mm."

They were loitering in the lobby, near the entrance, when she appeared. Aran, who had been hunched over his phone looking for a restaurant, looked up when Suna prodded him in the side. "It's _her_."

Aran didn't need to ask. He saw her immediately after lifting his head.

Miya Akari stumbled through the polished lobby, her fingers trembling.

Intrigued, the men observed her, wondering if she would do something.

And she did.

Akari pressed her back against the wall, half-hidden by a potted plant, and started to sniffle. It escalated quickly. She was a quiet crier, but an ugly one. Her tears cut through her make-up, mascara smudging around her eyes and running down her cheeks. At one point, she let out a wretched hiccup, covering her mouth with one hand.

Aran could not bring himself to feel any sympathy for her. If that made him a bad guy, then so be it. "She shouldn't even have the _right_ to be upset." He knew all about her—or, well, the parts that Suna had told him about anyway. But none of it had been good.

He waited for Suna to chime in, but he didn't. Not until she had wiped away all her tears and was scurrying off to the bathroom to fix her make-up.

"Maybe," he said. "But she's lost everything she ever cared for, and she only has herself to blame."

It was a sobering thought.

"Come on," said Aran. "Let's call Kita and tell him how it went."

* * *

They met up with Kindaichi, Kunimi and the Okazaki siblings for dinner and drinks. Satoshi—who was underage—and Iwaizumi had taken up temporary residence at a nearby hotel. Iwaizumi needed to be in the city to receive his compensation before heading home.

There was a teppanyaki restaurant close to the Supreme Court—one which popular food blogger Shirofuku Yukie had left an excellent review on—which they flocked to. Sakusa and Atsumu arrived last, though the former had been the one to set up the celebratory dinner.

"Yo!" Naoji greeted Sakusa far too casually as he and Atsumu strolled up to them. They were waiting at the front of the restaurant. "No need to thank me, I already made sure we're guaranteed a table."

"Trust me when I say that the thought never even crossed my mind," replied Sakusa. Beside him, Atsumu snorted in amusement. _At least he seems to be getting back to normal_. An outing would be good for him—not just him, but all of them. After everything they'd been through, they deserved a break—deserved an opportunity to fatten themselves with delicious food and drown away with sorrows with the finest alcohols.

They all trudged in, swiping their hands over wet spots on their coats and jackets where the rain had hit and wiping their shoes at the entrance.

To their good fortune, they had scored a seat at the back. A waitress came and cleaned up the previous customers' plates and wiped down the table. As soon as she left, Sakusa squirted the entire surface with sanitizer and scrubbed it even more thoroughly with a wet wipe. No one batted an eye, though Naoji did scoff under his breath.

"So!" Okazaki said, delightfully. "That went pretty well, if I do say so myself. How about you, gentlemen?"

Collective groans were the answer.

"Painful," said Kindaichi with a grimace.

"Exhausting," added Atsumu, looking the part, too.

"Long," groused Kunimi.

"All of the above," Sakusa griped.

"Really?" Naoji asked. "Because I thought it was pretty fun. Like, totally epic, for boring law stuff."

Okazaki turned her nose up at her brother. "Of course _you_ would say that, you insensitive _caveman_."

"Where even were you two?" Sakusa said before the siblings could get into one of their infamous spats. _I don't remember seeing either of them in the gallery._

" _Someone_ was out drinking until _four in the morning_ last night and made us late," Okazaki said sourly. "The doors were already closed by the time we got there, and we had to watch it from my laptop at the bar the next street over. And I wore my court outfit just for this event, too! What a waste."

Atsumu peered at her, interested. "Ya have a court outfit?"

"I have an outfit for _every_ occasion, darling."

"What a waste of time," remarked Naoji.

"With that attitude, it's no wonder you're still single."

Sakusa skillfully ignored the bickering that ensued, having done so many times before. The meal was wonderful, as to be expected, but the drinks were where things actually started to get more relaxed.

"Yamanote Line game?" Sakusa repeated Kunimi's suggestion for a drinking game. He'd heard of it before—it was popular among university students—but he had never actually participated in it.

Atsumu was equally clueless on the staple drinking game, having never actually experienced university life before. "How do ya play?"

"Basically," explained Kindaichi. "We go in a circle and name the stops on the Yamanote Line. If you repeat a stop or take too long, you have to drink. Normally, we clap along in beat, but since it's your first time, we'll keep it super casual."

Naoji popped open a bottle of alcohol, starting them off with some classic _shōchū_. He shrieked when the foam bubbled out of the top and went all over his head. He made to wipe it on his sister, but she was too quick for him. One deadly glower from Sakusa was also enough to ward him off from choosing him as a napkin—in the end, Naoji just flicked the mess all over the floor for the hapless waiter to clean up.

"Wait, before we start," Sakusa remembered something, "I need someone to drive us home."

"Oh?" Atsumu gave him a curious glance. "Yer drinkin' tonight, Omi? Didn't peg ya as the type."

"Yeah. I need a stiff drink."

"I'll do it," Naoji volunteered. "Anything to get my hands on that car of yours." Sakusa deadpanned at him. "Aw, come on! I'll be careful with it. Honest. My car's being serviced and Hana and I had to take the bus here like poor little orphan kids and—"

"Oh, fine," conceded Sakusa, begrudgingly handing him the keys, "Just spare me the sob story. But you'd _better_ wash your filthy fingers before you even go _near_ it."

"Yes! Score!"

Naoji sat back, happy to observe as they began the game after mixing the drinks to their taste. Sakusa took his shōchū mixed with umeshu, a plum-flavored wine, to make it stronger. The others' drinks varied. Interestingly enough, Atsumu avoided the shōchū altogether and ordered a whiskey for himself.

"Tabata," Kunimi recited as the first player.

"Gotanda," continued Kindaichi, grinning.

"Harajuku!" chirped Okazaki.

It skipped past Naoji and went to Sakusa. Three seconds passed. Then five. Sighing, Sakusa downed his first shot. "I don't take public transport," he said by way of explanation. "Before any of you ask."

Atsumu was next, but he, too, was at a loss. "I'm not a local!" he protested when they all gave him amused looks. "Cut me some slack here! Oh! Wait! Ebisu!"

"Too late," sneered Kunimi. "Drink up, Miya-san."

"Ugh, fine." He drank the entire glass of whiskey. "Hey, waiter! Get me another glass."

"That's a lot for a turn," noted Sakusa. _Whiskey is even stronger than shōchū..._

"I can take it."

The others were kind enough to let Sakusa and Atsumu look up the stops for thirty seconds before resuming the game. With the stops fresh in his mind, Sakusa stood a better chance. But as the game continued...

An hour and a half later, Kindaichi planted face-down into the table, still clutching his glass.

"Well, then." Kunimi poked his hand. It twitched. "This one's done for the night. And to be honest, I'm barely holding it together right now. Sakusa-san, I'm seeing two of you but rationality is telling me there's only one."

"Pah!" Okazaki slammed down a glass. "You guys are _weak_."

"No, you're just an alcoholic," Naoji said with a leer. "Come on, sis, I'll drive you home."

"Ughh, fine! But only because I want to tape my evening drama. Night, everyone!"

"Goodnight," Kunimi and Atsumu called after her. Kindaichi groaned something.

Sakusa was staring at the table, trying to recall something very important with his fuzzy, inebriated head. _Why do I feel like I'm forgetting something..._ But if he couldn't remember it, didn't that mean it hadn't been very important after all? He knocked back his last shot before slumping on the table, the last shred of self-control he had stopping him from squishing his cheek on the dirty table.

Next to him, Atsumu let out a high-pitched giggle, completely shit-faced from his whiskey. "That was fun as fuck!" he crowed. "Damn, we should do this more often! Why haven't I ever done this before? Broooo... I've been missing out..."

"Shut up, you're giving me a headache," grumbled Sakusa, squinting at the grill built into the table. _Wait a minute..._ Eyes widening, he was struck with an epiphany. He shot upright. "Shit! That little rat bastard took my car! Without us!"

"Oh." Atsumu tilted his head. "Oh. Well. Hm. That's not good, is it, Omi?"

"No. No, it is not." His brain was swimming but Sakusa could feel himself starting to gain back some coherent thought. "Kunimi-san, will you and Kindaichi be okay?"

"Yeah, man." Kunimi shrugged. "This isn't the first time I've had to drag his lightweight ass back to the dorms. We'll be fine. You and blondie better figure out which line leads back to your house, though. Oops. There's three of you now. Oh, no, two again."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Atsumu demanded, shoving his entire hand into Kunimi's face.

"Four," Kunimi answered promptly.

"Wrong! Five!"

" _You're_ wrong. The thumb isn't a finger!"

"What the fuck? It so is!"

Sakusa foot the bill and they all hobbled outside like the bunch of drunks they were. It was no use pretending that they were any more than that at the moment. Fresh air did wonders for Sakusa, though. As he sobered up, Kunimi helping Kindaichi to the nearest bus stop, Atsumu was swaying on his feet and scowling at his phone.

"Th'fuck is all this?" Atsumu complained. "Why are train charts so complicated?!"

Sakusa rolled his eyes. "Come on, genius." He hooked his finger under Atsumu's hood and dragged him along to the train station. Although he hadn't been able to retain any information about the stops, he knew the general direction back to his house and was sober enough to decipher the train charts.

They made it on miraculously, and found an empty train car.

"Hey, Omi-Omi." Atsumu shook his arm once they were seated. "Let's do the Yamanote Line game."

The train started to move.

"We can't play that _here_ ," Sakusa told him. "We don't have any drinks, you moron."

"I don't care," Atsumu slurred, sliding down in his seat as his cheek mashed against Sakusa's shoulder. "Takadanobaba."

"You're cheating off the sign."

"Aw, Omiii, gimme a break, why don'tcha?"

He slumped even further against him, nose pressed against the curve of his neck. Sakusa's throat bobbed, not quite able to summon the willpower to push him off. Atsumu, though insufferable at times, normally had more sense than to initiate physical contact like this. Then again, Atsumu was also drunk off his face right now. Letting it slide, Sakusa closed his eyes, crossing his arms.

Atsumu was warm.

A comfort from the carriage air conditioning.

"Hey, Omi?" mumbled Atsumu. The train rocked back and forth, nearly lulling Sakusa into slumber. But Atsumu's voice stirred him back into the waking world once more.

"What it is, Atsumu?"

Sakusa felt Atsumu's eyelashes tickle his skin as the other man rapidly blinked. "What's wrong with me?"

"Wrong with you?" echoed Sakusa, cheeks flushed red and hot from the alcohol. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"Then why does my life suck so much?" Atsumu moaned, forehead bumping against Sakusa's jaw. "'Samu's dead and you heard ma—she fuckin' hates me. I'm not even her son. At least dad—" He huffed, not saying anything further on the matter. His breath was hot and reeked of whiskey—Sakusa could _feel_ it. "I'm such a _loser_ , Omi. What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"There's _nothing_ wrong with you," Sakusa repeated, firmly.

"Why's my life like this, then? Why?"

"I don't know." It was the honest truth. "But it's not your fault. Life just dealt you a bad hand. You—ugh, fuck, you drive me fucking crazy sometimes, Atsumu, but you're—there's nothing _wrong_ with you. You—you're fine, okay? You... You don't need to change who you are." His head was pounding, words spilling from his mouth as his filter vanished like it had never existed in the first place. "Your mom doesn't know what the hell she's missing out on. And that's on her."

Atsumu lifted his head, looking Sakusa straight in the eye. "Omi, you... Yer a real sappy little shit at heart, aren'tcha?"

"Atsumu, you son of a—"

"Can I kiss ya?"

Silence reigned.

Sakusa blinked once. Twice. Then, abruptly, he said, "No. Not like this."

"The big bad prosecutor's above sloppy drunk kisses?"

"If I'm going to let you stick your tongue in my mouth, I'd rather do it sober."

"Fair enough. I'm good, ya know. With my mouth, that is."

"Shut up. Please. We're almost home."

The last stretch of the journey felt agonizingly long. Not for the first time tonight, Sakusa cursed Okazaki Naoji for pulling a runner on them. In Sakusa's car no less! The _Sleek Stallion_ , as Smith had so eloquently dubbed it! The first thing he would be doing tomorrow morning was calling up Naoji and threatening him with a lawsuit for stealing his car and forcing him to put up with the indecencies of public transport.

"What a rich kid," Atsumu muttered, shifting again so that his head was resting on Sakusa's shoulder.

He must have spoken the last part aloud. He made a mental note never to consume so much alcohol at once ever again.

"It's kinda cute, though," he went on, seemingly unaware that Sakusa was listening to every word, "I could listen to ya bitch about being poor... forever..." There was a string of unintelligible mumbling that followed before, finally, he dozed off.

Albeit about equal amounts of drunk as Atsumu was, Sakusa forced his eyes to stay open. There were only two stops left before theirs. Absently, he lifted a hand, lightly palming Atsumu's head. His hair was surprisingly soft for being dyed—he would have expected coarser and drier locks. _You're really full of surprises, aren't you?_ But that wasn't what Sakusa admired most about him. _You found the strength to keep going despite everything. You've lost everything, and yet you still wake up every morning to face the sun. Atsumu... You're the last person I would ever describe as a 'loser'._

The train slowed to a stop.

Grunting, Sakusa got to his feet and hauled Atsumu out of the carriage and into the night.

* * *

Getting Atsumu to the couch was a great relief on Sakusa's back. Stifling a groan, he massaged the small of his back, feeling it throb after dragging all of Atsumu's weight back into his house. He would have tossed him into his bed, but the living room was closer and all Sakusa wanted to do now was to shower and sleep.

His suit was crumpled, blazer practically hanging off one side of his torso. His tie, which he had ironed this morning, was loosened around the collar and thrown over his shoulder in wild abandon.

With aching feet, Sakusa turned on his heel, starting his march back to his room.

Something caught on his sleeve.

Looking back, he saw Atsumu with hooded eyes, fingers pinched around the fabric of his shirt.

"Let go," Sakusa instructed.

"No," Atsumu said. "C'mere, Omi."

The couch was big enough for two. The cushions were also very, very soft, and Sakusa knew he wouldn't be getting up until the next morning the moment he took a seat. Taking advantage of his distraction, Atsumu yanked with a surprising amount of strength. Already weak on his feet, Sakusa stumbled, falling back into the couch and sinking into the heavenly cushions.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sakusa growled, feeling the tensions in his body just melt away. He really had invested too much money into this luxury sofa, growing up with expensive tastes. The alcohol in his system was making him terribly sleepy, eyelids heavy.

Beside him, Atsumu wriggled against the backing of the sofa, so that Sakusa had more room. But his chest was still pressed against Sakusa's arm, firm beneath his hoodie. Atsumu's hair—it had been gelled this morning—partially fell over one eye.

It was annoying him.

Sakusa blew on it, hoping to get it to fly back, but it just made Atsumu blink irritably. Even more agitated than before, Sakusa pushed the strands back with one hand. "There," he murmured, but his hand was still hovering over Atsumu's cheek. Unsure of what to do with it and his brain working at half its usual speed, Sakusa just left it there.

His bicep began to ache.

"I meant it, y'know," Atsumu suddenly said.

"Hm?"

"I'm good with my mouth."

"Ah."

Their noses bumped, awkward.

_Screw being sober._

Slowly, Sakusa lowered his hand, laying it across Atsumu's cheek. Several responses raced through his head. From _'Let's test that, shall we?'_ to _'I guess we'll have to find out'_ , he had a slew of slick replies prepared. Instead, he blurted: "M'kaay."

Under the pall of the night, city lights blinking behind the balcony curtains, Sakusa leaned forward and pressed his lips against Atsumu's.

* * *

**June 2nd, 2018**

Japan was in uproar again. The citizens were still riding the waves of outrage that had been caused by the outcome of the trial, but another target had emerged from the throes of the corrupt—all of which Daizen had ratted out. The Minister of Justice denied all allegations, working at the speed of light to cover up proof, and many other politicians, businessmen, and wealthy denizens denied their connections with Hirakawa Daizen's illegal activities as well. They threw away their coats and swapped them for ones bearing the arms of righteous justice, boots stomping over the rugs that hid the mounds of their corruption.

Most were investigated anyway, unable to sever themselves from HNN Foundation.

But only one made it to the forefront of the press.

Justice Terano Maki.

Founder of the Women in Power Board of Japan (WPBJ), an organization which strived to elevate women into higher positions that were dominated by their male counterparts with the same qualifications and close the large gender wage gap through promotion of economic activity for women. A staggering twenty-four point five percent statistic stood between men and women in Japan as of this year, and Terano had worked herself to the bone for several years to provide women better opportunities in the workforce.

Her efforts were not for naught.

Even though—

"They were built on lies!"

Sakusa's ears pricked at the shout, raising his head from his phone. He'd been reading the news at a small cafe near his home. Atsumu was still sleeping in bed the last he had checked. He turned his head slightly, noting a balding salary-man vehemently ranting to his friend.

"She claims to want gender equality," the man continued with a strange, offsetting passion. "But she threw a man under the bus to gain a promotion! Are these the values being instilled into today's women? Do women think that they are entitled to step on men to get what they want? How awful! This society is deteriorating!"

"Calm down, Oyama-san," his friend said, exasperated. "I don't think it's such a big deal. Just drink your coffee, it's getting cold."

"How can you say it's not a big deal, Kawano-san? She threw an innocent man into prison! He spent six years in there for a crime he did not commit—that devil-woman knew perfectly well what she was doing!"

"Devil-woman?" Kawano shook his head. "Sure, but that doesn't mean all women are like that. I know my wife isn't."

"Yes, yes. Your wife is the sweetest woman I've ever met. She cooks and cleans and looks after your daughter..."

"She teaches advanced arithmetic at the tutoring centre, too," Kawano reminded him, raising a brow.

"She is everything a woman _should_ be," grumbled Oyama, hefting his arms over his belly. "Look, I'm not against women advancing their career, but we really need to draw a line."

Kawano scratched his cheek. "We do? What for? What kind of line are we drawing?"

"Must I repeat myself? You know what that woman did. How can we, as a society, ever find that acceptable?"

Ever since Terano's corruption had been revealed, Sakusa had been hearing many iterations of the same discussion. From what he had seen on both mainstream and social media, the split seemed pretty even—there were those who sympathized with Terano's cause (while denouncing her actions) and those who were ruthlessly attempting to discredit her from everything she had ever done to benefit her equality agenda. Polls showed mostly men on the side of the latter, though there were plenty of women, too. There were a few nutcases, too—those that approved of the steps Terano had taken to reach her ends.

And they would say:

_"The ends don't justify the means!"_

_"But she has helped so many women."_

_"One life for the life of many."_

_"Do you realize how you sound?"_

_"She's a hero!"_

_"She's a monster!"_

_"She wouldn't have done this if sexism weren't so normalized in this country!"_

_"You can't fight sexism with sexism! Terano let him rot in prison because he was a man!"_

And over and over again.

_It's like a circle._

Sakusa was _tired_. The past two months had been mentally and emotionally draining, and he couldn't bring himself to formulate and express a solid opinion on the current matter. All he wanted to do was recharge in his own little corner, away from all the activism and the condemnation and the heated political discourse that his aunt had generated.

At least one thing was for certain.

 _Her career is as good as over,_ Sakusa thought in a haze of indifference. It made him feel neither pleased nor disappointed. Truly, karma had bitten her in the ass—all of her lies had come crashing down. The integrity of the WPBJ was suffering for it. Things were not that simple. Terano had not decided to incarcerate Iwaizumi Hajime overnight. It had been a lifetime of degradation and being told that her only purpose in life was to settle with a man and have plenty of children.

The corruption being exposed in the government had merely been a symptom.

The rot ran deep—deeper than they would ever see. Deeper than they would ever allow themselves to see, hidden behind layers and layers of the falsities that the illusion of normalcy provided.

But—

Sakusa was _tired_.

He switched off his phone, finished his tea, and walked home.

* * *

**June 3rd, 2018**

_"Good morning, Japan. I am Inspector Yagami Light. Today, I am speaking on behalf of all of the NPA."_ The podium was a plain black with the logo of the NPA displayed at the front. No frills or any of the sort, as there usually were for award ceremonies. Today—today was a very different sort of broadcast. Light held a solemn air about him as he spoke to the cameras and the crowds. _"We promised the citizens of Japan to fulfill our responsibilities of upholding justice. But today, the weight of injustice sits heavy upon our shoulders. There is no way around it."_ Here, Light paused, letting his posture droop slightly. _"We have failed. The NPA... fully acknowledges the consequences of our failure and the pain we have caused the Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Miya families."_

Light's speech was broadcasted across all of Japan by every news corporation—from the sophisticated NHN to the tabloid-esque Sakura TV. From their homes, workplaces, and restaurants, people tuned in.

Sugawara Koushi graded his students' Japanese mock papers—they were to be handed back out tomorrow for review—as the speech played in his living room television. Occasionally, he would look up at the screen or check his phone to see a text from Daichi.

_"It is a shameful story of corruption and abuse of power..."_

Standing in front of a boarding house in Miyagino Ward with Tsuji Runa, Kyoutani Kentarou watched the broadcast on his phone. Tsuji was discussing long-term accommodation fees for _three_ with the landlord.

_"One the NPA played a part in, whether unwittingly or knowingly."_

Curled up against each other in their new student dorm, Kunimi and Kindaichi shared a bowl of popcorn between them, Light's face plastered on their mini television.

_"Rest assured, we are launching official investigations into those who are suspected to be involved."_

In Hinata's apartment, the orange-haired man hosted three guests—Kageyama, Shino, and Sayori. Sunano would've joined, but she had returned to Akita with her parents to recover from her heart attack. Together, they listened to the apology and ate from a plate of snacks Hinata provided, jazz music pounding away downstairs.

_"By failing to uphold justice, we have broken the trust of Japan."_

Prosecutor Chinen glanced at the closed door of the Chief Prosecutor's office, knowing that Midorima was packing his belongings away inside.

_"The least we can do is to make sure that something like this will never happen again."_

In a small suburban home in outer Tokyo, Sakusa Shiko played mahjong with the neighborhood ladies, half an ear dedicated to the radio, which was playing out the NPA's apology. Hours away from her, Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu were eating a late breakfast in peace, blissfully none the wiser of the broadcast not a single electronic device in the house turned on.

_"As children, we are taught and encouraged to learn from our mistakes."_

Yamaguchi Tadashi joined Tsukishima Kei for an outing at the Sendai City Museum. They talked of Tsukishima quitting modelling for good and working at the museum. Tsukishima seemed particularly entranced by the dinosaur section and inquired at the front desk about open positions. As fate would have it, there were some, and Tsukishima's degree made him more than qualified. Tomorrow, he decided, he would send in his resume. As Yamaguchi and Tsukishima spoke with the receptionist, Kajihara Takeru and his mother, Oikawa Hotaru, passed by with springs in their steps.

_"It is a valuable lesson instilled from us since young."_

Satoshi ignored a call from his mother, yelling across the hotel room for Iwaizumi to hurry up with his shower since they needed to be at the courthouse with Naoko in an hour. A text from Mina popped up on his phone, and he smiled.

_"But we know now that it is tragically easy for us to lose sight of ourselves."_

Watari laughed as a young child pressed his face against the glass before being spooked by a curious shark.

_"The case of Iwaizumi Hajime is a wake-up call for the NPA and the justice system."_

Yachi joined up with Shimizu and Tanaka at their shared apartment for drinks and wedding planning. They laughed over cake and beer and teased Yachi about her new boyfriend, who adored her quite plainly.

_"If we are to fight for justice, we must never again turn our weapons on the innocent."_

In the break room at a certain police station, Smith and Shirabu shared octopus sausages while Obata entertained the antics of Numbers One, Two, and Three. Shirabu shyly revealed his ticket to a Semi Eita rock concert, glaring poisonously at Obata when she noticed and dared to tease him for his poor attempt at reconciliation.

_"Let this go down in history as a stark reminder."_

Tickets to Oishi Ryoka's upcoming concert sold out early from overwhelming support for the Iwaizumi family. Oishi celebrated with champagne on the balcony of her luxury apartment, Kuroo and Kenma by her side. Later today, Kenma would host a stream with other members of the gaming community, and discussion of the fallibility of justice would be rampant in the chat.

_"To all who had to suffer..."_

Suna left flowers at Osamu's grave, Aran kneeling with him.

_"To all who are still suffering..."_

Takagi Chiasa stared at her own gaunt face in the bedroom mirror, the husband she did not love ducking in to kiss her on the cheek before heading off to a lunch with coworkers, not even noticing her pallid complexion and the unhealthy amount of weight she had lost. The mother-in-law she wished she could've had sobbed under the weight of her grief in Miyagi, finally able to say goodbye to her daughter after six years without closure.

_"To all who would have suffered..."_

Hanae Miyo rubbed her pregnant belly, her husband holding her hand as they sat in front of the television together. She was due to give birth any day now. Hanae had not dreamed of Chen's horrible touch since the trial had ended. Her mother, Ichika, kept calling, but they ignored the rings and decided that they would block her number later. She made a silent promise to raise her unborn child with love she knew she was now able to give as the pain ebbed away.

_"And to all who will still suffer because of this grave injustice..."_

Komori Tateo lay sprawled across his floor, whiskey bottles rolling at his feet and the names of his dead wife and child on his lips because moving to Sendai hadn't been enough to forget it all. He could not hear the bawling of his neighbors in his drunken haze—could not hear the devastated cries of the Goshiki family, of parents who had had to bury their child before their own parents.

 _"No words will ever be able to express how deeply sorry we are."_ Light bowed to his audience before rising with steely eyes. _"We promise we will strive to do better in the future. Thank you."_

* * *

Birds were twittering outside. Kindaichi stretched, nearly knocking over the bowl of popcorn nestled between his and Kunimi's thighs. Light had done a good job—a job so well done, in fact, that Kindaichi had almost found himself immersed in it. But not even the toastmaster that was Yagami Light could completely disguise the emptiness of the apology.

"We'll be okay, right?" Kunimi asked, out of the blue, as the channel resumed its usual program.

Kindaichi considered this.

It really had been a rough couple of months, hadn't it?

Sometimes, he would still wake up with nightmares of that night, and Kunimi would hold him until he fell back asleep.

_But..._

"Yeah," Kindaichi said eventually, and he meant it. "We'll be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow. Thank you for sticking to the almost-end, guys. The title is a throwback to one of the piano pieces I made. Just thought it fit due to the more romantic content in this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, this was the last chapter! Busted it out in a single day, before I even got to reply to anyone last chapter. Speaking of, I seriously enjoyed reading all of your comments!!! Even though I haven't replied (yet), I read each and every one of them more than once and I will do my best to get back to them. For now, enjoy this almost-final chapter.
> 
> Comments are loved and appreciated so, so much <3


	57. Epilogue (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story begins to come to a close.

**June 22nd, 2018**

Slowly, things got back to normal. Kindaichi's birthday passed without much fanfare and consisted of a lowkey movie night with Kunimi. He'd received plenty of birthday wishes, though. The exam period for the first semester began on the seventeenth of July, but Kindaichi's first exam was not until the twenty-first.

Regardless, he broke his back studying.

"You'll be fine," Kunimi insisted one day in Cafe Pezzo, slurping a sugary milkshake. "Exams aren't for another month."

"I feel like I've spent more time running after bad guys than studying!" retorted Kindaichi, the bags under his eyes denoting his lack of sleep.

"Order up! For table number twenty-nine!" the chef shouted from the kitchen, and Manager Sunano Rie approached from the counter to reach for the plate. She was glowing, fully recovered and rested from her ordeal.

Hinata still intercepted, though. "Manager!" he said earnestly. "Don't work too hard, I'll bring it to the customer!"

Sunano made a face, unable to decide between being exasperated or grateful. "Come on, kiddo, I'll be fine. I'm not made of glass."

"No, it's okay! I can do it."

At that moment, Kageyama stepped into the cafe. At Hinata's suggestion, he had gotten rid of his flat bangs—now, the front of his hair was styled up so that they were suavely side-swept. It suited him well—made him look more approachable than before. Less like a brooding teenager and more of a smooth-talking gentleman.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mister MI6," Kunimi joked, waving him over. Kageyama sat down at their table, nothing in his posture to suggest that he was uncomfortable around them. "Save the Prime Minister yet?"

"Abe?" Kageyama said, hesitantly.

"Not _our_ Prime Minister," Kindaichi said with a chuckle. "We're talking about... uh..." He turned to Kunimi, eyes wide. "Who's the Prime Minister of Britain again?"

"You dolt," scolded Kunimi. "That would be... um..." His expression went completely blank. "Gimme a second, I got this."

"You can't look it up."

"I'm not! I'm thinking, Kindaichi!"

Hinata, overhearing their conversation on the way back from delivering an egg and bacon roll to table twenty-nine, stopped by their table. "Queen Elizabeth!" he interjected with utter seriousness. "Come on, guys, keep up with the times."

"No!" Kageyama, Kunimi, and Kindaichi all shouted in unison.

"It's Theresa May," a baritone voice said from the side, and the four of them turned at once like a single entity. Kuroo cringed. "Fucking hell, that was creepy. Do you all only share one brain cell or something?" He was sitting with his white-haired model girlfriend, who was busy pushing her plate of cake around on the table so the dessert could catch the best light. Then she whipped out her phone and started snapping multiple pictures of it.

"Whoa," Hinata muttered. "You look like a supervillain, and you talk like one, too."

"Babe," Oishi interrupted, kicking Kuroo in the shin. "Which one of these is the most Picstagram-worthy?"

"Lemme see—aw man, you took, like, thirty of them."

"Ugh, you're right—I should've taken more. They all look like shit, anyway."

"Ryokaaaaa!"

Despite the din of the cafe, Kindaichi slouched across the table, feeling strangely at peace. The outing had pushed most of his exam worries to the back of his head, and it was relaxing just to exist without any pressing responsibilities once in a while. Kunimi mirrored his action, a strand of blue hair settling between his eyes. Kageyama glanced between the two of them before setting his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his palms.

Hinata had to get back to work, but he would occasionally come over to their area to strike up a conversation or two. When he wasn't around, talks between the three of them were slower and lower energy, but equally enjoyable. Or, at times, heavy.

"They sent her bones back to Sendai," Kageyama was saying, a frown etched in his brow. "Mom's probably cremated her by now."

"She didn't call you down for the funeral?" Kunimi was baffled.

Kageyama shrugged. "Don't know."

"I didn't realize you were on bad terms with your mom," Kindaichi said, ruefully.

"We're not," Kageyama corrected. "We're just..."

Kunimi ventured a guess: "Not talking at all?"

"Yeah."

"Damn."

Over the past two and a half weeks, the three of them had been reconnecting. Unpleasant memories of middle school were overwritten with silly banter and casual volleyball. Of course, it could not wipe away the bad times they'd shared as children, but—with time—the hurt would fade. Kindaichi and Kunimi knew more about Kageyama than they had ever thought they would care to know—but they didn't know everything.

"Kageyama," started Kindaichi. "What happened between you and your mom?"

Kageyama picked at a hangnail on his finger, trying to figure out how to pull it out without making it bleed. "I don't really know," he mumbled. "After I went to juvie... We just drifted apart. It seems like so long ago, but I remember—I remember that I was so _angry_. At the world, and at her. I remember thinking that mom gave up on Miwa." But now that he looked at it, Kageyama came to an abrupt realization. _Mom didn't give up on Miwa. Mom was barely holding it together for me._ It disquieted him, and he appeared to shrink into himself. "After I finished high school, I just— _left_. I didn't want to stay in Sendai any longer." _I didn't even think about mom._

"I didn't want to stay there any longer either," admitted Kindaichi. "I wanted a fresh start. Sendai... was too suffocating."

"And I just didn't want to leave this guy alone," Kunimi added, jabbing a thumb at Kindaichi. "Pretty sure he would've imploded without me, and I was right."

"I imploded _with_ you here, anyway."

Kunimi couldn't argue with that.

"So," concluded Kageyama. "We're all selfish, cowardly bastards."

"Yep," Kunimi agreed without hesitation.

Kindaichi rubbed the back of his neck, the edge of his hand brushing against the bristly end of his low ponytail. His hair had grown out enough for him to tie it back now. "I guess. But we don't have to be like that. I know I'm not the same person I was this April."

That was true. What was also true was that they would spend the rest of their lives working on themselves—and that was fine. Everybody else did that, anyway. It was merely a behavior that came with being human.

"Do you think I should call her?" Kageyama asked.

Neither of them said anything, but all three of them already knew the answer.

* * *

" _Yes_ , mom," Sakusa replied into the phone, fond exasperation coloring his tone. "What, now? We're—" Sharply, he bit his lip, whipping around to see Atsumu frying rice in a wok. The blond's hair was mussed, and he was wearing one of Sakusa's shirts. Sakusa's cheeks flushed, and he forced himself to lower his eyes. "You're already on the way? You shouldn't talk on the phone while driving. What? Your car has a Bluetooth? No! No, I did not know that. Right. I'll see in you in an hour, then."

As soon as Sakusa hung up, a sputtering noise exploded from Atsumu's mouth. "Yer mom's comin' over?!"

"I tried to stop her," Sakusa sighed as he sidled up to Atsumu to pour soy sauce into a small saucer.

"I heard the whole thing! Ya barely tried!"

Sakusa scowled. "She's my _mother_. It's hard to argue against her, okay?"

The corners of Atsumu's lips tugged upward in a sly smile. "Scared she'll be horrified about what her princely son's been up to? That a peasant boy like me is defiling him?"

God, he made it sound so _lewd_. Sakusa nearly overfilled the saucer in his struggle not to choke on his saliva. "Do you have to say it like that? It's not like we're having sex."

"We _are_ having sex, though."

"Oh, please. Blowjobs and kissing hardly constitute as _sex_."

"Ah. So when ya say sex, what ya _really_ mean is—"

" _Yes_ , Atsumu."

Atsumu's grin changed—from sly to childishly delighted. "Ya said my name."

Sakusa cocked a brow. "I've been calling you by your first name for a while now."

"Oh, I know. But ya know what they say—a thousand sunsets and a thousand opportunities for appreciation."

"Huh. I've never heard anyone say that before."

"Makes sense." Atsumu tipped the rice into a sharing plate. "Yer a city boy, after all."

As they ate breakfast together, Sakusa contemplated their relationship. He wasn't sure exactly what they were—the lines were blurred on almost all accounts. 'Friends with benefits' was probably the most apt description, but it didn't sit completely right with him. _Oh well,_ he thought. _We can cross that bridge when we get to it._ For now, things were peaceful and stable—Sakusa didn't want to ruin it. Atsumu was a housemate—one of the more permanent variety, now—who he would sometimes fool around with. They had enough respect and sexual attraction for one another to be bedfellows. Beyond that, though... _Are there feelings in there?_ Sakusa's gaze flicked up from his rice to Atsumu. Yes, there were _feelings_ —but of the _right_ sort? The _romantic_ sort? He wasn't sure just yet, and he wasn't sure where Atsumu stood on the matter.

"You have rice stuck to yer chin."

Sakusa blinked, then lifted his chopsticks to pick at the grain. He found it by his upper lip. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Omi."

_What, that's it? Nothing else to say about that?_ Sakusa rarely made a mess eating, and he would've thought that Atsumu would milk the opportunity for all it was worth. "Is there something on your mind?"

Atsumu jumped in his seat. "Eh?"

"You're distracted today."

"Oh. Am I?"

"Whatever you want to say to me... Just do it."

Atsumu's brow gradually lowered in a frown. "Omi," he began, strangely sober. "If it's not too much to ask... Do ya think you could come back with me to Hyogo tomorrow? I... I got a call last night. From, uh, the family attorney."

Sakusa sat straighter at the mention of an attorney. "Did something happen?"

"Apparently... Dad died. Liver failure. Um, he—he left everythin' to me. In his will. The house and all."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Atsumu."

"No, no!" Atsumu raised his hands in protest. "I'm not—I ain't—ah, shit. It's no loss to me. He—he was a piece of shit, anyway." His voice trembled. "So I'm not upset or anything."

"Yes," Sakusa affirmed. "But he was still your father. I'm not telling you to love him, but don't feel bad for being sad about him. It's natural."

Atsumu puffed a relieved sigh. "Okay. So... Will you come? I'll just probably need to stay a night there, and then we can go back."

Ever since Sakusa had been reinstated as a public prosecutor, he'd been spending less time with Atsumu. _But I should be clear for the weekend._ "I'll buy the tickets."

* * *

An hour later, both Atsumu and Sakusa were cleaned up and fully clothed—just in time for Shiko to ring the doorbell. Atsumu gulped as Sakusa went over to the front door, slippers slapping against the flooring. _Okay,_ he coached himself. _Calm down. Just be cool. She's just a little old lady. I can take her. Wait, no! What am I thinking?! I can't body-slam Omi's mother!_

The door opened, agonizingly slow to Atsumu, and a black-haired, middle-aged woman stepped in and toed her shoes off at the entrance-way. She did not dress as obscenely flashy as Atsumu would've expected from a rich lady. Maybe he had been watching too many dramas. He recalled Sakusa saying something about her _Victorian-chic_ sense of style. _Oh, yeah. I can definitely see it._

Sakusa didn't really look like his mother, though. She was short, slender, and willowy while he was tall, athletically built and broad-shouldered. The softness of her cheeks were a sharp contrast from Sakusa's strong jawline. And the hair! Shiko's locks were impossibly straight, even bundled up neatly in a low bun. He must have taken after his father—Atsumu wouldn't know; he had never seen pictures of Junji before.

Sakusa received his mother warmly, hugging her. "Mom." He propped his chin on her head, eyes closing contentedly like a sleepy cat. "It's been a while."

"Kiyoomi." Shiko reached up to rub his head, further solidifying the feline image of Sakusa in Atsumu's head. He hoped he wasn't blushing too brightly. "You should call me more often, you know. And the ladies at mahjong have been asking after you."

Sakusa groaned. "Just tell them I'm busy. It's not like it's a lie."

"Oh, but I want to show them how handsome my son has grown up to be." As she held her adult son like an overgrown child, Shiko's gaze met Atsumu's, going round in surprise. "Oh... Oh! You must be Atsumu-kun." Releasing Sakusa, she gracefully approached him. "Kiyoomi's told me about you."

Atsumu laughed nervously, unsure whether to bow before or after answering her. "All good things, right?"

Shiko's eyes glimmered. "I'll let you figure that out for yourself."

"Omi!" exclaimed Atsumu, drawing Sakusa over. "Just _what_ have you been telling this sweet, wonderful woman about me?"

"Are you really sucking up to my mother in front of me?" Sakusa retorted.

Shiko giggled, looking up at Atsumu. Under her serene stare, Atsumu cowed slightly, a lopsided smile on his face. "It's very nice to meet you, Atsumu-kun. Thank you for keeping my son company. He needs more friends."

" _Mom_ ," Sakusa complained, embarrassed.

"It's been my pleasure, Shiko-san," Atsumu said cheerily, reveling in Sakusa's discomfort. Perhaps he might have referred to her by her husband's last name had that husband not been dead. From the looks of it, it seemed that he had said the right thing. _Thank god._ He followed Sakusa and Shiko to the couch. _Wait, why am I thinking like this, anyway? Why should I care what she thinks? She's just... Omi's mom..._ Atsumu resisted the urge to heave a great sigh. _I think I know what's going on here._ He'd known for a while that he liked Sakusa, but... Meeting his mom? This was _serious_ territory, now. It meant that he already had one foot in the coffin.

"I saw the trial," Shiko said over tea.

"Oh," said Sakusa, and nothing more.

"I'm glad they got their punishment." Shiko's voice was surprisingly dark. After all, Shō was due to be executed and Daizen... Life imprisonment. In a way, that was an even worse punishment than death. Atsumu had heard stories of what inmates did to those who had raped and abused. "You did the right thing, Kiyoomi. You've..." She beamed. "You've made me even prouder than I already am. Ahaha! The ladies will be so jealous."

Sakusa smirked. "Using me to brag, huh?"

"As if you don't enjoy it," Atsumu ribbed.

"You've always been very prideful." Shiko joined in on the teasing. "But you do a good job of hiding it, Kiyoomi." Too bad it was absolutely ineffectual when it came to her, though, was the unspoken sentiment. She pulled a box of something out of her handbag, putting it on the coffee table. "Here—I made something for you and Atsumu-kun."

Atsumu could vaguely make out its shape, but he didn't find out what it was until she popped it open. They were cold, but he could still smell them—as if she had taken them straight out of the oven. "Cookies!"

"Cashew butter cookies," Shiko elaborated. "They're Kiyoomi's favorite."

Atsumu let Sakusa take the first cookie before taking one for himself. He bit it in half, the flavor positively _orgasmic_. It had just the right amount of sweetness and creamy, buttery flavor. All that combined with the nuttiness of the cashew... He swallowed. "This is awesome! Shiko-san, you're an amazing cook!"

"They taste the same," Sakusa murmured, and Atsumu wondered how long it had been since Sakusa last ate his mother's biscuits.

"Eat more!" Shiko insisted, pushing the box toward them. "I made them just for you two."

_Ma could never,_ Atsumu found himself thinking as he tossed another cookie into his mouth. Sakusa Shiko was truly gifted with the hands of a baking goddess. _Why couldn't she be my mo_ — He stopped that train of thought there. The only way Shiko could ever be his mother was if she adopted him (unrealistic; why would she adopt an adult son when she already had one?) or... _If I became Omi's partner._ Atsumu tongued the roof of his mouth, scraping off half-chewed biscuit. _Besides, if Omi became my 'brother', that'd just be fuckin' weird._

Shiko stayed until late afternoon.

"I should be heading back," Shiko said, regretfully, standing from the couch. "I have to drop by your uncle's on the way home to give him dinner."

"How is Uncle Tateo?" Sakusa asked.

Shiko shook her head. "The same as ever. All he does is drink and drink... I don't know how to stop him." All of a sudden, she seemed much older than before, worn instead of sharpened by the whetstone of grief. "It's sad. I still remember him during our college days. I never thought he would end up like this." She paused, then asked Sakusa, "Did you know that your old teammates are planning a reunion?"

Sakusa narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. It's next month. How did you know about that?"

"They sent a flyer to our old apartment," explained Shiko. "I went to collect mail from there the other day and saw it."

"The apartment?" Sakusa echoed. "I haven't lived there since university. Even _you_ don't live there anymore."

"Guess it's still registered as yer address," supposed Atsumu. "But what's the big deal, anyway? Reunions... They sound fun, if the right people are there."

"He's right. You should go," agreed Shiko. "It'll be good for you to see your old friends again."

"I don't know," Sakusa protested, weakly. "I wasn't planning on going..."

Shiko clicked her tongue. "Is it because you don't want them to pity you for Motoya?"

Silence on Sakusa's end told Atsumu that she was correct.

"I don't want them to ask stupid questions either," muttered Sakusa, looking away stubbornly. "Besides—I put that part of my life behind me a long time ago. Our eyes are at the front of our head to look forward."

"And our necks are made to turn so we can look back," Shiko rebutted, not unkindly. "I won't force you to do anything, Kiyoomi. But just think about it a bit more, okay?"

The sun was beginning its descent when Shiko left, saying goodbye to them.

"We should go out for dinner," Atsumu put out as he pulled on his jacket, "I passed by this western place, and it smelled hella good. Whaddya think, Omi-Omi?" No reply. "Omi?" Atsumu peered around his shoulder. Sakusa was standing by the couch, arms folded and eyes fixed on the ground. "Earth to Omi-kun. Omi!"

Sakusa startled. "Hm? Oh. Sorry. Are you going somewhere?"

"Dinner, but only if you're up for it, too." Atsumu retraced his steps back to Sakusa. "What's got you all spaced out, hm? Is it the reunion stuff?"

"Brilliant deduction, Atsumu," Sakusa snarked.

"Geez, someone's touchy. I won't bug ya about this, but let me just say this one thing: Yer mom's pretty smart. She knows what she's talkin' about."

Sakusa softened. "I know. Her brains were wasted on being a housewife."

"If it was what she wanted to do," Atsumu said, thoughtfully. "Then it's not a waste. It just means she chose family over being a career-woman. Nothin' wrong with that." Chose. _Choice_. It was so important, at least to Atsumu. Akari... Akari hadn't had a _choice_ when she became a housewife. Not really. And the result had been a fuck-up like him. Sometimes, he wished that he had never been born.

"You're right." Sakusa gave him an odd look. "It must be a blue moon tonight."

"Oi!" Atsumu huffed. "I resent that remark."

"Come on," Sakusa brushed past him, "I'm feeling like western tonight, too."

_Huh._ Atsumu smiled, padding after him. _So ya did hear me, Omi. How sly of ya._

* * *

**June 23rd, 2018**

Shirabu inhaled deeply.

An impromptu reunion.

_I'm not ready._

Shirabu pushed the door open.

_Too bad for me. I have to do this._

They met a restaurant in Sendai—complete with a decked-out bar and fancy patrons. Shirabu felt under-dressed in his casual-formal long-sleeved shirt and slacks. He was wearing his best shoes, as well—the pair had cost him nearly forty-thousand yen.

"Ah, it's Shirabu-kun!" Tendou spotted him first, the chocolatier half-standing from his chair and waving to him. "Heyy, Shirabu-kun!"

Shirabu tried not to grimace. He greeted everyone halfheartedly, feeling Semi's gaze bore into his temple. _This is so fucking awkward... Or is it just me?_

"It's very good to see you again, Shirabu," Ushijima said in that straightforward way of his. "We missed you at Goshiki's funeral."

He nearly flinched. _Is this really Ushijima-san?_ Yes, Ushijima could be blunt—Shirabu knew that—but what he had just said... It wasn't just blunt, but it was... Strangely passive-aggressive. Or was he just imagining it? He didn't know where to hang it, this awful imagination of his. "Sorry," Shirabu said, lamely. "I had... a work commitment..."

Semi scoffed.

Shirabu glared at him, courage welling up along with shameful indignation. "What?"

"Why did you even come here?"

An awkward silence fell upon them. Not even Tendou could break it, his outward cheer sapped away by Ushijima's mention of the funeral.

"Do you all blame me, then?" Shirabu asked, abruptly. "Do you blame me for his death?"

"Shirabu," Reon tried.

"It's a yes or no question."

"And what would you do if we said yes?" sneered Semi, tilting his chin up defiantly.

Shirabu looked at them—looked at all of the few of them who had managed to make it tonight. Ushijima, Tendou, Semi, Soekawa... "Nothing," he admitted. "I just wanted to know. Unless you don't think I deserve even that. I'm not a complete idiot, you know—I know that I'm not exactly in a favorable light with you all."

"Damn right you aren't."

Shirabu glanced backward to see Kawanishi coming over in his bus boy uniform. Was this the same restaurant that Kawanishi worked at? Goddamn. Kawanishi handed them their drinks and menus. "You're not gonna join us?"

"Can't you see I'm working?" Kawanishi said, stiffly. "My shift's over in an hour. I'll join you then."

"Alright." Shirabu hid his nose behind the menu, pretending that that terse interaction hadn't just happened.

The reunion was... stilted.

Conversation was minimal, and really only occurred between Tendou and Semi (they would pull in Ushijima and Soekawa occasionally). Shirabu just sipped at his wine, the dull teeth of boredom gnawing away at his bones.

"So," said Shirabu, inviting himself into the conversation. If they weren't going to go through the trouble of doing so for him, then so be it. "Ushijima-san, why did you invite us all here...?"

"I thought it would be good to catch up," replied Ushijima, breaking eye contact with Tendou to address Shirabu. "It has to come to my attention recently that we haven't not been seeing each other."

"Yeah," Tendou piped. "I missed you big lugs."

_But that's not all, is it?_ Shirabu smirked bitterly.

"I don't know why you're surprised," Semi said, scornfully. "Of course this was gonna happen sooner or later. Someone we know died."

Shirabu did his best to keep his voice controlled. "Look, I get it. Why don't you try hide your feelings a bit better?"

"What—like you?"

That one hurt.

"Do you even know what it was like?" Semi continued. "Standing there in the cold, watching him get _buried_ —"

"I—" _Fuck!_ Shirabu had spilled wine onto his shirt. _Goddammit, piece of_ —

"He probably wouldn't know," Soekawa said plainly. He wore rings on his fingers now. For fashion, probably. "He wasn't there."

Reon frowned. "You guys... You're going too far—"

"You're wrong!" Shirabu shouted at Semi and Soekawa through clenched teeth, the part of his shirt where the wine had landed sticking to his abdomen. "I _was_ there!"He bit down on his tongue so hard that he thought it would bleed. So many things he wanted to say— _too_ many things. A side of him longed to cuss them out for the way they had invited him, only to ice him out, but the rest of him wanted to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. But he didn't—they weren't the people he needed to forgive him anyway. Only one person was that, and he was dead.

Cold.

Self-contained.

Aloof.

_I can't believe I ever took pride in hearing people say that about me._

Semi spoke up, blinking, "Shirabu, did—?"

But Shirabu didn't want to hear what Semi—the one who despised him the most besides Kawanishi—had to say. "Stop acting like I don't give a shit!" he snarled, though he knew very well that nobody would be able to blame them for thinking that of him. His chair screeched as he pushed it back, grabbing a napkin to dry the damp stain on his shirt and storming outside.

* * *

It wasn't long before heavy footsteps sounded behind him.

Shirabu didn't turn around, just glaring at the dark and sucking on his cancer-stick. The smoke curled in his lungs, the stress lining his body gradually falling away. Whoever was there was now standing next to him. Then he sat on the curb, their arms almost touching.

Finally, Shirabu took a peek. He blinked, surprised. "Semi."

"Shirabu," grunted Semi, taking out a pack and lighting his own cigarette. He shoved the box and lighter back into the left pocket of his leather jacket—the one with the fur-lined hood. "Ushijima made me come after you."

"Ah."

They didn't say anything more. Just quietly smoked their lives away.

"Do you still hate me?" Shirabu wondered, tapping his cigarette. Ash dropped between his designer shoes.

"It's all about you, isn't it?" snorted Semi.

Shirabu chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Old habits die hard. What's yours? Nevius?"

"No. It's _Hope_."

"Huh." Shirabu blew out a cloud of smoke. "Same here."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Semi commented. "Hope. But this shit is supposed to kill you. Shave the years off your life. Where's the hope in that?"

"Maybe some people find hope in death," mused Shirabu.

"Probably. In my opinion as a living person, though... There is no hope in death. The moment we get too close to death... All the hope gets sucked away. And then there's only... What's the opposite of hope?"

"Despair?"

"Yeah. Despair."

_How fitting,_ thought Shirabu.

"Did you mean it?"

Shirabu frowned. "Mean what?"

"Did you really go to Goshiki's funeral?"

"I was late," said Shirabu. "But yes, I did go. I went with Taich—Kawanishi. It wasn't Goshiki who I didn't want to see. It was you guys."

"Oh."

"I have nothing but regrets left," Shirabu went on, "That and the last shred of my dignity. I don't even know if I have the second one, to be honest. But I knew that if I went while everyone was there, I wouldn't be able to look you all in the eye." Even now, he still wasn't looking at Semi.

"Shirabu—"

"I'm a coward. I deserve to die. In fact, I should just go kill myself right now—"

"Shut up!" Semi snapped, cigarette falling out of his mouth as he grabbed Shirabu by the collar with both hands and pulled him close. He could smell the nicotine on his breath, or maybe he was picking up his own scent. "Don't you _fucking_ dare! We—we already lost Goshiki that way!"

"But—"

"Look!" Semi was growing hysterical. "Death doesn't solve anything! Maybe you think it does, but it fucking doesn't, okay?! Dying just means that everything is over when there's still so much left to do!"

"Semi..."

"What?!"

"Why do you care if I die or not?" It was a genuine question. "It's just for your own peace of mind, right? Your conscience won't be able to take it if I kill myself. Because then you'll start blaming yourself and then you'll kill yourself, too, and the people around you will blame themselves and the cycle will—"

"God." Semi swelled in anger. "Can you shut the fuck up for one second? Have you considered that—and hear me out here—I don't _want_ you to die?"

"You said you hated me."

"I hate what you did," Semi corrected. "But... I don't think I can hate _you_. Not really. It frustrates the hell outta me sometimes, but it's true."

Shirabu's lips parted, uncertain. Smoke escaped. "I have nothing left to lose, right? So I guess I can tell you." He looked at Semi, almost imploringly. "I like you. Or I did. Back in high school. I liked you a lot, but I could never tell you because that's just the kind of person I am. I don't know how I feel about you now, though. Especially since you're doing your best to hate me. I was just some guy you knew. And I let it stay that way."

Semi was speechless. Or, well, Shirabu assumed he was. He wasn't saying anything, so—

"Why?" Semi finally said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just told you. That's just the kind of person I am."

"I wish you had. Then maybe I could've said the same thing to you."

Shirabu gaped at him. "So you're saying—"

"Yes, I liked you, too. You're so fucking dense, Shirabu. Then again, so am I."

Shirabu nodded, slowly. "But it's too late now, isn't it?"

"Six years too late," said Semi. "I have a boyfriend now. Keisuke—he's my bandmate."

"Oh. The drummer?"

"Yeah—Wait. How did you know?" Semi stifled a laugh. "Have you been _stalking_ me, Shirabu?"

"What—I—no!" Shirabu spluttered, growing red. "Well, you see—I bought your ticke—no, fuck this. I'll never tell you anything ever again."

"You bought a ticket to our concert?!" yelled Semi, getting up. "Holy shit! _You?_ "

"I'm never telling you anything ever again!" Shirabu reiterated, shouting it this time. "This is why I don't tell people things, goddammit!" He stood as well, brushing dust off the back of his pants. His cigarette was almost at its end, so he dropped it and stamped it into the ground.

"I'm sorry," wheezed Semi. "This—this is just too good! I'll be sure to give you a shout-out, Shirabu. Maybe I'll even invite you onstage."

"Oh my god, please no—"

"Your mouth says no but your eyes say yes."

"Save that for the bedroom with your goth drummer boyfriend, Semi." Shirabu grinned, feeling his cheeks hurt—but the ache was surprisingly pleasant. He realized then that he could not recall the last time he had smiled like this.

For the first time in months, he felt _alive_.

Shirabu—

He would savor this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Where to begin... Ah, yes. I have a stomachache. Blegh. Also, at work today, I had to break out my Cantonese to a lil old Chinese lady lmao. I sound like such a foreigner, it's hilarious. It's not as bad as the time I had to speak Mandarin, though. My Mandarin is so sketchy and I got that Malay accent and it's very clear that I am not from the mainland. What's even worse is when I get mistaken for Korean (which happens regularly) and I have to tell them that I'm not Korean and I have to do it quick because this part of me is afraid of these Korean aunties thinking that I'm a Korean who can't speak Korean and doing that middle-aged Asian tutting and saying that it's a shame I can't speak my own language and that my parents should have taught me better and yes I actually think this despite not even being Korean idk why it's just like this okay. The coworker who I'm usually rostered with works the front of the cafe with me (we have 2 ppl out front and 2 ppl at the back) and is Korean. So he handles the Korean customers and I get the joy of handling the Chinese ones. We have both come to a mutual agreement that it is better to speak English because if you speak your native language to other people who also speak that language, they tend to ask for a lot of things. One time, we had a group of 6 Koreans come in while the restaurant was virtually empty of all other customers and my poor coworker was tending to their every need because they felt more comfortable around him than me. That Korean solidarity. They ordered over $100AUD worth of food. Good business, but very finicky with their food lol.
> 
> On more exciting news, though, the talented Lineal transcribed Apart here!: [Apart sheet music](https://musescore.com/user/37443307/scores/6599159/s/iL2MfU?share=copy_link)
> 
> I cannot thank them enough. I'm so bad at computers I literally use PowerPoint to edit my pictures. If you want to check it out, please do. It's not hard to learn at all (probably beginner level) because I have very little experience in composing since I normally just play other people's compositions.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments last chapter, I was absolutely blown away by them. I love hearing what you all think--the good and the bad and the in-between. Here's the first epilogue, the first step to everyone's resolution.
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for following the development of Shard Society. We're nearly at the end, folks! It's going to be strange saying goodbye soon, but this goodbye isn't forever. The sequel will follow, and I have lots more short-length works planned out.


	58. Epilogue (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu takes a trip back to his childhood home with Sakusa.

_The money weighed heavy in his hands._

_"I don't understand. Why're ya doin' this?"_

_"Ya don't need to understand. Just... take it and go. It's hard out there, but I guess it beats livin' here with me, huh?"_

_"How... How do you have this?"_

_"Been savin'. For... yer college tuition. But I guess ya don't need that now, do ya?"_

_"Y'know," Atsumu swallowed, clutching the packet tightly, "It'd be a lot easier for me if you were just a bad guy all the time."_

* * *

**June 23rd, 2018**

They touched down in the early afternoon, then took a taxi to Atsumu's childhood home. Atsumu was unnervingly quiet throughout the whole journey, but Sakusa didn't think it was his place to pry. Both of them were dressed casually in expectation of manual labor—Sakusa had swapped his typical designer clothes for a simple black tee and jeans. There was a neon green paint splash pattern on his shirt.

The taxi dropped them off at the address Atsumu had given the driver. Upon exiting the vehicle, Sakusa glanced up at the house, at the winding pathway through the front garden that led to the porch. It was quite an impressive building—Atsumu's paternal grandparents must have been quite well-off to build it for their son. It was too bad that they were all dead now—the grandparents _and_ the son.

It struck him, then, that—unless there was some illegitimate child hiding somewhere—Atsumu was the last of his father's bloodline.

"It doesn't look completely horrible, right?" Atsumu's voice floated from the side. Sakusa's peripheral caught movement. "Hell, it even looks _nice_."

_But it holds a lot of bad memories for you, doesn't it?_ Sakusa thought as he and Atsumu made their way up to the house. The way it caught the sunlight—it was simply majestic. The only comfort was that there were sure to have been some good ones made, too. From the way Atsumu had spoken about his life at the hospital, he and Osamu had been undoubtedly close as children.

Atsumu fiddled with the keys, trying to find the right one. He found it eventually, and the door opened up with a click.

There was a thick layer of dust on almost everything, as if his father had died years ago and not just recently. The alcoholic must have been poor with the upkeep. Not entirely unexpected, but Sakusa wished that Miya Hozumi had put more effort into maintaining the place.

"We're going to need a lot of disinfectant," Sakusa remarked. "Actually, no—we need to hire an entire team."

"Not my problem," said Atsumu. "I'll leave it up to the agent."

"Hm? You're selling it?"

"Duh." Atsumu stopped in front of a closed door in the hallway, hesitating. "Why—did ya think I wanted ta live here?"

Sakusa paused beside him, taking in the sight of the door.

In chipped wooden block letters glued to the surface, _Samu + Sumu_ was spelled out. Plastered next to his dead twin's name was a faded onigiri sticker. At first, Sakusa thought he was going to open it, but Atsumu just trudged into the kitchen. He tossed the keys onto the kitchen table, looking around. "I think I'll take some of the pots and pans," Atsumu said to no one in particular. "Buy myself a little apartment in the city. I can't live in your place forever, Omi."

"Of course," Sakusa agreed, but it was lackluster. _I wouldn't mind having you around. It makes the place less lonely._

"Don't worry, though." Atsumu grinned at him over his shoulder. "I won't move far. You can call me over anytime."

_Why does this feel like a goodbye?_ Sakusa frowned when Atsumu turned back. "You... You can stay with me until you find a job. You've been looking, right?"

"Mostly part-time stuff, but yeah," confirmed Atsumu, digging through the kitchen cabinets for good cooking equipment. "I've got three interviews lined up next week. If I play my cards right, I can live a casual life. Not exactly what I envisioned for myself but hey," he placed a pot on the counter, "a living's a living."

Together, they collected from the house everything Atsumu would need to sustain himself in his hypothetical studio apartment. Sakusa had a powerful urge to scrub every surface in the house but refrained from doing so. He had only brought along one bottle of sanitizer spray anyway, and it was already half-empty from disinfecting the plane seats and the taxi seats.

It was late in the afternoon, that golden sunlight pouring in through the windows, when they were finishing up.

"That should do it," Atsumu huffed, wiping sweat off his brow as he sealed closed his third cardboard box. "We should call a Wuber down to our hotel."

"Hotel?" Sakusa parroted. "I didn't book a hotel. I'd assumed that we'd be staying the night at your place."

"What?!" Atsumu was flabbergasted. "No way I wanna spent another moment in this place!"

"Sorry. I just assumed."

"I—" Atsumu sighed. "It's fine."

"I'll look up one right now," Sakusa promised, whipping out his phone. "Oh, and..." He stopped typing, flexing one hand when the glove stuck uncomfortably to his skin. "Isn't there one more room in the house that you haven't cleared out yet?"

Atsumu knew which one Sakusa was talking about. Sakusa could see it on his face—Atsumu never had been very good at hiding his feelings. He was like Komori, in a way. Sakusa liked it. He didn't know what he would do if Atsumu turned out to be someone like him—the last thing the world needed was another Sakusa Kiyoomi.

"Nothin' gets past you, huh, Omi?" Atsumu smiled, but it was strained.

"If you want," offered Sakusa, "I'll do it for you. You can book us the hotel instead."

"No—I probably shouldn't avoid it."

"I'll go with you, then."

Atsumu didn't object to that. They left the remaining boxes on the front porch, trusting that no one would dash out of the woods and steal them. The house was pretty isolated from the neighborhood and surrounded by woodland.

The way Atsumu gingerly opened the door to his childhood bedroom made Sakusa wonder if there was some horrible monster hiding in there. But there was nothing—the room was... _ordinary_. Something flashed in Atsumu's brown eyes—something pained and longing. The room was not completely devoid of all life—there were several indications that there had been children residing here once.

A cork-board hanging on a nail in the wall. Nothing stuck on it, but several holes in the material suggested that there'd once been many things—posters and papers and children's drawings—pinned to it.

Sakusa nearly stubbed his toe on the box of toys pushed up against the foot of the bed. Like every other surface, there was a thick layer of dust on the lid. When he looked at the bunk bed, he noticed that there were no mattresses on the bedframes. They wouldn't have been able to sleep here, anyway—Sakusa would definitely have to book that hotel.

"Huh," Atsumu said. "Dad really stripped the place down. I'm surprised he didn't sell everything, though." He chanced a glance up the wall, softening when he saw a torn poster still taped in place.

**NCA MORREM!** , said the poster, which made no sense to Sakusa.

"God," Atsumu whispered harshly when he saw the thing. "I can't believe it's still here."

Sakusa didn't question it. Instead, he directed his attention to a cardboard box on the elongated study desk—he could tell it had been designed for more than one child to sit at. It looked out of place in the room. "Oi, Atsumu."

"Yeah?" Noticing the box as well, Atsumu padded over. "Huh. This is..."

Sakusa checked the label. "From the Tokyo police."

"'Samu's things," realized Atsumu, gulping.

They must have been retrieved from his apartment during the investigation. Now that it was over, they had sent them back to Osamu's next of kin—Miya Hozumi.

There was a beat before Atsumu all but tore the box open with his bare hands. They were shaking, but Sakusa didn't say a word about it. For a celebrity chef, Osamu didn't have many personal belongings. He supposed being extorted by his own father figure—the same one that ended up _killing_ him—was probably why.

A handwritten journal filled with recipes. Most of them had something to do with rice. A quick flip through it told Sakusa that Osamu hadn't been very interested in desserts at all—he'd enjoyed making and eating savory foods more. _He didn't even want to become a dessert chef,_ Sakusa closed the book, _He just did it because it was in fashion and likely what_ _Shō wanted him to do._ And it had _worked_ —prior to his death, Miya Osamu's popularity had been climbing fast—but at the cost of Osamu's own happiness.

The only other things in there were a copy of an old video game—one that ran on an obsolete gaming system—a mini rice cooker, some crumpled up sketches of logos for an imaginary business called _Onigiri Miya_ , an empty wallet, and—

Atsumu fished out two phones—one was a silver flip phone and the other was a smartphone with a cracked screen. Atsumu chuckled, humorless. "His first phone," he told Sakusa, holding up the pearly silver one. "I had a black one of the exact same model, but I broke it some years back. Damn. It's just like freakin' 'Samu to keep his in mint condition." His voice cracked. "Sensitive bastard." He tried turning it on, but it was completely dead. Putting it aside for now, Atsumu turned his attention on the smartphone.

Sakusa vaguely recognized the model—it had been incredibly popular during its time.

"'Course ma bought him another one," Atsumu scoffed, pressing down on the on switch. "He was always the favori—eh?" The phone's screen lit up. "No way. This still works?"

"Apparently."

Atsumu snickered, leaning his hip against the desk. "Time to see what secrets ya had, 'Samu."

Osamu had kept his phone locked with a password, but Atsumu cracked it in a matter of seconds.

_51095_ —the twins' birthday.

The battery was on less than twenty percent. It would probably die soon.

"He didn't even have any games," complained Atsumu, talking a little too fast for Sakusa to believe that he wasn't affected by this. "How boring. What are these? Cooking apps? Lame."

Absentmindedly, Atsumu scrolled through Osamu's gallery. There were less than a hundred pictures. Most of them were of food, but there were a few of Osamu with his middle school classmates. Sakusa even recognized one of them from his volleyball days—Akaashi Keiji, who had played Fukuroudani as their setter. In this picture—sitting with Osamu and some nameless, baby-faced classmates with a birthday cake in front of them—he would've still been in middle school.

There wasn't much to see.

The phone was almost dead now—ten percent.

"Guess that's all." Atsumu was about to drop it back into the box when his thumb accidentally brushed across the voice memo app. He stared down at it, blinking at the _one_ memo that had been saved onto the phone. "What the...?" Turning the volume up to the highest it could go, Atsumu held the bottom of the phone up to his ear and played the message.

_"Hey... 'Tsumu. It's that time of year again."_

Atsumu's breath hitched, flinching away from the phone like he had been struck.

_"Did... Did you get any presents this year? Ah, fuck... That's probably a dumb question, huh?"_

"Fuck," said Atsumu, the color draining from his cheeks. "Fuck—I—" He paused it. "Why?"

"You don't have to listen to it," Sakusa said, gently. "Put it down."

"No, I," he swallowed a lump in his throat, "I hafta do this. I... I want to."

Sakusa nodded. "Alright. I'll be right here."

"Thanks." Licking his lips nervously, Atsumu resumed the audio message.

_"Um... This is gonna sound like a huge brag, but I swear it ain't. I got a lotta presents this year. Like, a shit ton. I don't even know what ta do with 'em. I think I'll give 'em all away. Or sell 'em. It's weird, but... The stuff we used to get each other for our birthday, even all the dumb and shitty stuff... I miss that. I miss_ you _, 'Tsumu. Even if you were a fuckin' bastard to me the last time we talked. I'm still mad, by the way. But... I miss ya, okay? I just do. I think I'm gonna delete this later. Bye."_

The message ended.

Atsumu didn't say anything. Just slumped against the table. He hung his head, hair falling over his eyes. "I told you, didn't I?" he rasped. "What... a stupid, sensitive asshole..."

"Atsumu—"

He looked up, hiccuping with tears. "Goddammit! That little fucker! If you missed me so much, why didn't ya ever call?!" Sakusa startled. He'd never seen Atsumu cry so hard before. His chest heaved with each sob, tears falling heavy and fast and teeth drawing blood from his bottom lip. The phone clattered to the floor as Atsumu doubled over and buried his face in his hands and _bawled_. "'Samu... _'Samu...!_ "

Birds chirped outside.

Wordlessly, Sakusa wrapped his arms around Atsumu's head and brought him close.

* * *

They rode the Wuber to the hotel in silence, boxes rattling in the car boot. Sakusa answered work emails on his phone while Atsumu stared out the window, eyes swollen and faraway. Occasionally, Sakusa would spare him a glance, but there was nothing to be said.

_What a shitty day._ Atsumu watched the trees slowly transform into urban space. He felt absolutely drained of energy. It hadn't taken long for him to make his decision—Osamu's box of things now rocked dangerously along with the other three boxes in the back. The hole in his heart had grown bigger all of a sudden—or maybe it had always been this big and Atsumu hadn't registered it until now. He wished Sakusa would say something but he probably didn't know how to string a sentence to him right now. No matter. His company was appreciated at any rate.

After they arrived at the hotel, Atsumu and Sakusa unloaded the boxes. The bellhop took care of the rest of it, and they were sent to their room with the promise of their things being delivered to them soon.

Atsumu threw himself on the bed on the left while Sakusa punched in the wifi password on his phone. "I want to take a nap," he declared. "For the rest of my life."

"That's called dying, Atsumu," Sakusa said, raising his head from his phone. "Please don't die."

"Yeah, yeah." Atsumu groaned, rolling in bed. "I won't. I promise."

"Good. Is there anything you want to do while we're here?"

At that, he sat up. "Like sex?"

Sakusa rolled his eyes. "Not now. We're both filthy and I'm not in the mood. I was thinking of room service."

Ah. That was probably a better idea. Atsumu's stomach growled. He hadn't even realized how hungry he was—they had not eaten since before they got onto their morning flight. "Can we get hotpot?" _One with lots of seafood._

"I'm looking through the menu on their website," reported Sakusa, "They have hotpot, but you have to buy your own ingredients from downtown. They only provide the gas stove."

He was still drained, but it was only the right thing to do. So Atsumu said, "I'll go. I know my way around this place, anyway. Go shower, Omi-Omi—I know yer dyin' to."

Sakusa cleared his throat. "Is it that obvious?"

Atsumu chuckled. "Extremely." Going outside to clear his head was just what he needed as well. He liked Sakusa, but he really needed some alone time right now. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Alright."

The fresh air that hit his face when he stepped out of the hotel was magical. His stuffy nose was already beginning to go away, but Atsumu was positive that he looked awful right now. _Ah, who cares?_ He sniffed, heading to the nearest grocery store. _Leave it to 'Samu to do a number on me when he's already dead..._ His throat bobbed and his eyes burned but he didn't want to cry again. Eyes wet with unshed tears, Atsumu squared his shoulders and began the short walk to Amino Mart.

The town—just a little outside Kobe—was just like he remembered it to be. It wasn't a big town, but it wasn't small either. There was Ms. Yamada's flower store across the road, and the music centre at the end of the street... Ah, and Amino Mart. It sat on a street corner and took up a large space—they'd expanded during the time Atsumu was gone. The supermarket now had a small parking lot.

One, two, three, four—eight. There were eight cars parked in the lot and one of them probably belonged to the old lady hobbling out of the store with her grocery bags. Atsumu would've helped her, but by the time he reached the entrance, she was already reversing her car.

_Let's see,_ Atsumu made a list in his head. _I'll get some fatty tuna. If Omi doesn't like tuna, too bad._ _And some squid, and tofu skins, and lots of enoki mushrooms._ He ate the mushrooms like they were noodles. _Garlic and chili and oyster sauce to make paste... I should probably get some lettuce, too._ Atsumu picked up a red basket, putting his arm through the handles.

He was browsing the freezer section for gyoza when tiny footsteps reached his ears. Atsumu turned his head to the side to see a little girl—probably three or four—running up to him. She was wearing a green apron with the words _Amino Mart_ stitched across the front.

"Hi there, mister!" she chirped, pigtails bouncing as she waved at him. "My name's Hamamura Yoko! Do ya need any help?"

Amused, Atsumu humored her. "I'm lookin' for some gyoza. Ya know which brand's the best?" _What a cute kid. I wonder where her parents are, though._ Since she was wearing the apron, she was probably a friend of the Amino family.

"Ooh! Yes, I do! It's..." Yoko squinted before pointing at a bag with a red stripe on it. "That-a one!"

"Oh? That one has kimchi stuffing."

"Yeah! We im... _imported_ it from Korea!" She beamed up at him, obviously proud that she had managed to pronounce such a hard word. "It's veery popular, mister!"

"Huh." Atsumu opened the fridge and took one. He dumped it into his basket. "I'll take yer word for it, kid."

"Yay!"

A chubby woman—also wearing an Amino Mart apron—appeared around the corner, looking rather hassled. When she spotted Yoko she ran toward them, sighing exasperatedly at the child. "Yoko! How many times do I have to tell you not to disturb the customers?"

"Mama, Mama!" Yoko chattered excitedly, grabbing the woman's thick calf. "I made a sale!"

"Sorry," the woman looked up at Atsumu, "I didn't she'd... Miya Atsumu? Is that you?"

Atsumu stared at her. Then he made a choked noise. "Wha—Amino-san?! Amino Maaya?" _This kid is hers?!_ The old resentment he held toward her couldn't even surface at the moment.

Amino gaped. "I thought ya skipped town!"

"And I thought you'd..." _Be busy ruining someone else's life._ Atsumu didn't say the last part, wisely. "So... ya work here... Full-time. I'm guessin'. You inherited?"

"That's right." Amino smiled weakly. She was probably remembering their history. "My parents retired two years ago. It's my store now. Well, mine and Natsuo's."

_Natsuo..._ The name rang a bell in Atsumu's head. "Wait... Natsuo... _Hamamura Natsuo?_ " _The soccer idiot?!_ After years of chasing fruitlessly after Amino during middle school, Natsuo had finally gotten what he wanted. Only now, Amino was overweight and the very definition of a suburban mother. Atsumu could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"That's my daddy!" cheered Yoko.

"You and Natsuo tied the knot," Atsumu said out loud. "Wow."

"Got married straight outta high school," Amino elaborated. "We had Yoko a year later."

"I see." Atsumu kept his tone neutral.

This was too _weird_. His middle school bullies had gotten married in an unholy matrimony. And from what he could tell just by speaking to Amino, she had changed. She wasn't the same two-faced bitch as she had been. Or maybe she had just mellowed out a little. In any case, she was _different_. She had a _daughter_ , for god's sake. A _daughter_. Atsumu would have pitied the child had he not seen how she clung to Amino with pure adoration.

"Well," Amino started, breaking the awkward silence. "I guess... It's good to see ya again."

Atsumu laughed. "No need ta kid yerself, Amino-san."

"I'm not kiddin', though," Amino said, sincerely. "It's... It's funny, isn't it? How life turns out." A pause. "I heard about yer twin. I'm sorry, Atsumu-san. For everything."

"Nah," Atsumu said, even as hot knives drove through his chest at the reminder of Osamu. "I don't need ta hear it from ya. I'll just get outta yer hair..."

"Oh. Yes, of course... Yoko, do you still remember how to use the register? Help Atsumu-san scan his groceries."

"Ooh!" Yoko dashed to the counter. "I remember, I remember!"

He didn't know why, but there was a heavy ache in his heart as he observed Amino correct her daughter's mistakes. For Atsumu, the curtains of childhood had long been drawn shut, but seeing his old classmate grown and gentle and with a child of her own... It was humbling, in a way. He would never be able to forget that Amino had done to him in the past— _the axe forgets, but the tree remembers_ —but he would not allow it weigh him down anymore.

"She's a good kid," Atsumu told Amino as Yoko cautiously bagged his items, unable to completely erase the tinge of sadness in his voice.

"Yes." Amino's smile was mellow. "She is."

Atsumu thanked Amino, said goodbye to a pouting Yoko, and returned to Sakusa with the hotpot ingredients.

* * *

The hotpot was _delicious_. Atsumu burped—much to Sakusa's dismay—and sat back in his chair. "That hit the spot."

"Yes," Sakusa said dryly, "I can tell."

Despite being sober, Atsumu felt almost drunk. "Hey, Omi-Omi? Did I ever thank you?"

Sakusa, whose eyes had been drooping shut, gave him a look. "For what?"

"Saving my life."

"Probably."

"Because," Atsumu sat up and leaned forward on the table, "It's good to be here. I didn't think there would be a life after 'Samu. But... there is. And I'm here now." _I'm here with you, and Amino and Natsuo are married with a kid and in love and Shiko-san makes the best cookies._

Sakusa seemed to understand, the edges in him rounding out slowly. "Good," he said, curt and perhaps a tad embarrassed. "Just—good. Your life's not over yet, Atsumu. I... I would miss you, if you were gone."

"Of course you would," crowed Atsumu, grinning archly. "Who wouldn't?" Then he sobered up again. "Today had me thinkin'. 'Bout a lot of things. But... I dunno why, but I can't get dad outta my head."

"Your dad? That asshole?"

"The scumbag, yep. The one and the same." Atsumu's elbow bumped against the portable stove. "The thing is... He wasn't a total asshole. And that's what makes him the worst."

"I'm not following."

Atsumu fiddled with his hands. "Well... About five or so years ago, I decided to run away from home. For good. Dad caught me packing. I thought he was gonna beat me like he usually did, but... It was one of the few fuckin' times he was sober." He closed his eyes, seeing Hozumi's pitiful expression before it went away, leaving the man faceless. "Guess there _was_ a reason why ma married him after all. No one can be a bag of dicks for their whole lives. He gave me money. Apparently, he saved up for me. Can you fuckin' believe it? Sometimes, I still can't." Atsumu gripped the table, trembling. "Why? Why did he decide to be a good dad for once in his fuckin' life? Did he think that it'd just take away everythin' he did ta me? Did ta me and 'Samu and ma? I still don't get him. Now he's dead. I'll never know what was going through his head. And I don't need to 'cause I don't care, but—I can't totally hate him. And that's the _worst_. I want to—I want to hate him so bad because he's a piece of shit, but I _can't_." Imploringly, Atsumu stared at Sakusa. "Do you know how it feels like? Not... being able to hate someone even though they deserve it?"

It was a rather heavy thing to drop on poor, unsuspecting Sakusa, but the other man was handling this better than he thought. Ashamed, Atsumu lowered his gaze. Sakusa didn't need to be burdened with all of his troubles—

"I think I do."

_What?_ Atsumu snapped back up. "Really?"

"I had a difficult relationship with my father, too," Sakusa admitted. "Though it was more one-sided than yours. For a long time, I resented him. Or tried to, at least. I wanted to reject everything he stood for, but I couldn't. Because his values were my values. He was a good man, but he wasn't a good father." He tilted his head, languid. "He's dead, too. And me? I still can't hate him. I know our situations aren't the same... But I think I understand how you feel."

Atsumu smirked. "So. We're just two guys with daddy issues, huh?"

"Tch. You have a gift for saying things in the worst ways."

They took turns brushing their teeth at the sink. Sakusa had already showered beforehand, so Atsumu hopped in without any issue. When he came back out, fully dressed and toweling off his hair, he found the beds pushed together. Sakusa was already in bed, reading glasses perched on his nose as he read something on his phone.

"Eh?" Atsumu gawked at the sight, towel sliding off from his head and falling into a heap on the floor.

"Come to bed," Sakusa droned, not looking up from his phone. "I'm almost done. We can sleep right after—I'm exhausted." His eyes met Atsumu's. "Aren't you?"

Trying to redirect the flow of his blood to a more helpful place, Atsumu dove into the now king-sized bed. He wriggled under the covers, resting his head on Sakusa's shoulder. The last thing Atsumu had expected from today was to cuddle Sakusa in bed, but there was no way he was passing up the opportunity.

Sakusa's clothes smelled like his usual laundry detergent.

Atsumu didn't mind.

They smelled like home.

"Omi?" Atsumu said sleepily.

"Hm?"

_I think I love you._ "Nah. It's nothin'." Atsumu closed his eyes, their bodies pressed together. "G'night, Omi."

"Goodnight, Atsumu."

* * *

The work email was more complicated than Sakusa had first anticipated. When he finally did put his phone down, his eyes and fingers were aching. Taking off his spectacles and putting them on the nightstand, Sakusa peered down at Atsumu. Asleep, Atsumu appeared at peace with the world, free of all of his worries.

Sakusa softened, carefully brushing a strand of blond hair away from his face.

_I think—_

_I might love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A SakuAtsu epilogue, I suppose 0w0
> 
> Just two more after this... Damn. I can hardly believe it myself. Hope you liked this SakuAtsu chapter for those who clicked on this story just for that lol. Comments are always loved and appreciated <3


	59. Epilogue (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yahaba, Tsuji, and Kyoutani reunite.

**June 24th, 2018**

There was a bubbling fountain the garden. Each breath Yahaba took was shallow but steady. Foliage lazily waved in the wind as Nurse Arima pushed his wheelchair down the garden pathway. She was talking to him as she pushed but her words fell on deaf ears.

A butterfly landed on his knee. Yahaba blinked, taken aback.

"Oh," said Nurse Arima, stopping them in the middle of the path. "How pretty."

"Yeah," Yahaba agreed, quietly. The butterfly stayed stock-still on his leg. "Pretty."

_Pretty._

_Beautiful._

_Oikawa._

Yahaba took a deep breath.

_A new day._

He forgot how long he had been here, but he remembered everything. The confrontation with Kunimi, Yachi's terrified screaming... and everything before that, too.

A specialist had dealt with him at the ward.

 _Delusional disorder_ , Yahaba remembered his diagnosis to be. A mental disorder with a variety of causes—a disorder that made the affected fixated on a false belief. A disorder that was commonly a partial symptom of schizophrenia. The specialist and his team of nurses had helped him through it with psychodrama of all things.

He found it hard to believe that he had ever been sick.

Now, the only thing that ailed him was a constant fatigue that had seeped into his body during his recovery.

_The me that I want to be..._

In his mind's eye, Oikawa grinned.

Yahaba chuckled to himself, gaining a confused look from Arima that he didn't see. _Sorry. I don't think you were ever the right role for me, senpai._ He glance heavenward, admiring the blue sky overhead. _I wonder what everyone is up to._ He would be out of here in a few days. Back into the world as himself and not the shadow of a dead man. Relapse was scarily possible, but Yahaba wasn't worried. The only thing that plagued him at the moment was—

_I miss everyone._

The butterfly flew off, Yahaba's gaze following it until it disappeared behind a shrub. "Nurse," he requested, "Could you get me some water, please?" He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry."

"No worries," Arima said, waving off his apology. "I'll be back in a moment." She parked his wheelchair at a scenic spot in front of the fountain.

Yahaba closed his eyes, enjoying the temporary peace. Nothing against Arima, of course, but he found that if he didn't have the company of his friends, it was better to be alone. He could hear the cicadas chirping from the surrounding trees, announcing the hearty arrival of midsummer. _Where will I go after this? Back to school? Yeah. I'll probably need to repeat the semester, though..._ That would be fine. It just meant he would be finishing graduate school two semesters ahead of Kindaichi instead of three. _Ah, man. Kindaichi. Kunimi. I owe 'em both an apology._

Maybe he would have given Goshiki one, too, had he still been alive.

Yahaba had heard.

The doctors had thought it would be best for him to know about it even though his parents had objected.

He was grateful for that.

_Mom and dad never really knew me, anyway._

In fact, the only two people who had really seen his true face were—

Not here.

Grass crunched beneath shoes. Yahaba's ears pricked. "Arima-san?"

"Wrong," a gruff voice replied him.

Yahaba's jaw went slack as he gaped at the forestry in front of him. _No... It can't be... This is impossible?_ Gulping, he said, timidly, "Kyoutani...?" Unable to fight back his curiosity any longer—it _burned_ his veins—Yahaba turned his wheelchair around. His heart rose to his throat, choking out whatever he'd been about to say next.

Tsuji Runa and Kyoutani Kentarou stood together—blond and raven hair.

They looked older, wiser, sadder, happier.

Yahaba burst into tears. He didn't even move—he just cried. He cried, and cried, and cried, barely registering the way they moved next to him, putting their arms around his too-frail shoulders.

And even though he knew the answers, he still wanted to ask the questions.

_What have we become?_

_How did we get here?_

_When did we grow so old?_

"It's been so lonely," Yahaba wept, freely and unashamedly. "Without the two of you here."

"We're here now," Tsuji whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "We're not going anywhere."

* * *

**May 12th, 2018**

_I can't do this anymore._

Tsuji stood outside the Aoba Building, her coworkers coming out in small groups as they clocked out. It was evening, and Tsuji would be heading home to nobody soon. No boyfriend, no friends, and parents too busy enjoying retirement to bother with her. This was not the sort of life she had imagined herself living when she had been in high school. She'd been so determined back then—determined to become a fashion designer and revolutionize the industry with her creativity. Determined to get the man of her dreams and become a cosmopolitan woman instead of a country bumpkin. She'd been pretty, flighty, popular, and had taken all the right marketing and design courses in university she needed to reach the top.

But she had never gotten there, and now she was single, lonely, and working a nine to five office job five days a week. Brilliant.

It was almost laughable, really, what she had become.

She'd been so vain during her school years—and for what? She had nothing to brag about now. No achievements in sight. Tsuji Runa was a lowly accountant and nothing more. The best thing she had going for her was her savings account. Frugality wasn't exactly flashy or even desirable by any means.

"Hey, you alright?"

Tsuji startled at the sound of Yamaguchi Tadashi's voice. Then she relaxed as he sidled up to her, carrying a briefcase. His red lanyard was stark against his pressed shirt. "I'm fine," she said, trying to smile.

Yamaguchi looked concern. "Are you sure? You look a little... sad."

Bless Yamaguchi and his caring heart. An accountant like her, he was probably the person she was closest to at the office, but they had never really crossed the line of being more than coworkers. Sometimes, she wished she had the courage and energy to offer him her friendship.

"I'm fine," Tsuji insisted. "Really, Yamaguchi-san. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"I'll drive you home," Yamaguchi offered.

Tsuji shook her head. "Our houses are in the opposite direction. I'll take a taxi. It's okay, Yamaguchi-san. I mean it." She dipped her head to him. "Goodnight." Before he could continue to be kind to her, she went away, pretending to be texting on her phone on the way to the taxi stop. _I can't take advantage of him like that. I bet he's just as tired as I am._

To put it simply, her phone was dry. No one had texted her in the past eight hours. Tsuji sighed. When had her troubles all started, anyway? She had never had any problems making friends... But keeping them was another story, especially as she got older.

 _At least tomorrow is Sunday._ Her days off were Sunday and Monday—from Tuesday to Saturday, she would be working. _I wonder what I can do... Other girls my age would probably be going out with their friends or boyfriends..._ Tsuji clutched her phone to her chest as she waited for a taxi to come by. _I miss them._

She probably seemed like a total loser thinking this, but she wanted to go back to her high school days. Back then, she'd been friends with two of the best boys she had ever met. Their friendship hadn't been perfect by any stretch, but she had felt so comfortable and safe around them.

_Kyoutani-kun... Shigeru-kun..._

It only hit her harder when she recalled what her mom had told her over the phone the other day. Apparently, Tsuji's mom had heard from _Yahaba's_ mom that Yahaba had been admitted into a psych ward after he had some sort of breakdown. _What happened to you, Shigeru-kun?_ she wondered woefully. _I... I want to see you again so bad. Both of you. I..._

"I can't do this anymore," Tsuji said aloud.

With shaking fingers, she typed out a name in her contacts that she had not accessed for years.

**Kyoutani-kun :)**

Her last message to him was from 2014, sometime before high school graduation congratulating him on his exam scores. It had been left on read.

Mindlessly, she shot him a message, not even considering the fact that he may have changed his number since the last time they had seen one another.

 **[Tsuji]:** Kyoutani-kun, please text me back as soon as you get this. It's about Shigeru-kun.

No reply.

That was fine.

Even back then, Kyoutani hadn't been the type to frequently use his phone, anyway.

A taxi rolled up.

* * *

**May 13th, 2018**

Tsuji blearily opened her eyes, yawning. What time was it? She had stayed up quite late last night, waiting for a message that never came. As she sat up in her bed, hair sticking up in the air on one side of her head, she palmed her nightstand for her phone, which was charging.

Turning it on, she wasn't expecting any chat notifications on her lock screen.

But—

"Oh my god!" Tsuji shrieked, eyes popping open and now fully awake. _Three new messages from Kyoutani-kun?! Am I dreaming?!_ If she was, she never wanted to wake up. Swiping to the right, she hastily unlocked her phone and opened the conversation.

They had been sent at around seven in the morning. Of course an athlete like Kyoutani would be waking up so early on a Sunday...

 **[Kyoutani]:** Come meet me here

 **[Kyoutani]:** **Open image**

 **[Kyoutani]:** 10 o'clock ok

Tsuji opened and saved the image address. It was to a cafe not too far from her apartment. Then she spotted the time on the corner of her phone. It was already nine-thirty?! Squeaking, Tsuji scrambled out of bed and shot to the bathroom to freshen up and do her hair and makeup.

At nine-fifty, she plaited her hair into its usual side-braid and slipped on her casual heels. Stumbling outside, she locked the door behind her and hurried downstairs.

"Good morning, Tsuji-san," said her kindly neighbor.

"Good morning, ma'am!" Tsuji returned before exiting the compound.

She power-walked the whole way to the cafe, chest heaving up and down by the time she arrived.

Five past ten.

Tsuji straightened and pushed the door open, having already spotted Kyoutani's blond head from the shop window. Her hands were strangely clammy. She wiped them down on her skirt, then cleared her throat. "Hello? Kyoutani-kun?" She sat down in front of him.

Kyoutani looked... the same. He hadn't changed much at all. His hairstyle was slightly different, but that was all. _He sorta looks like a tennis ball, actually..._

"Huh." Kyoutani looked her up and down. "You haven't changed a bit."

Tsuji laughed. "Like you can talk! Kyoutani-kun, you look the same as you did in high school!"

"Do _not_ ," he retorted. "I'm taller now. You're still short and weak."

"Weak?" echoed Tsuji. "I was the captain of the softball team in our third year of high school, I'll have you know."

"You keep bringing up high school..."

 _I do?_ Tsuji hadn't even noticed. _Gosh, what's wrong with me? I don't want to be someone who peaked in high school! This a sign that I'm becoming like one of them! But... there's nothing really to talk about when it comes to my current life..._ "Sorry." She tried to laugh it off. "Guess seeing you just reminded me of those days."

"You said this was about Yahaba." Straight to the meat of the matter. Kyoutani had never been the type to beat around the bush. Seemed that part of him hadn't changed either.

Tsuji nodded, steeling her resolve. "That's right," she said, solemn. "I got a call from my mom the other day. Yahaba... He had a breakdown, and now he's recovering in a mental institution. We," her voice broke a little, and her cheeks colored in embarrassment, "should go see him."

For too long, Kyoutani just stared at her. Like she was some brand of crazy. Finally, he asked, "Why?"

"Eh? What do you mean why?"

"Why now?" Kyoutani frowned. "After so long... I thought you would've forgotten us by now."

Tsuji bit her lip. "Is that what you want? To just... forget it all?"

"I..." Hesitant, Kyoutani tapped his foot against the leg of the table. "I was doing just fine without you and Yahaba."

"Oh." Tsuji's heart sunk, but she couldn't blame Kyoutani. Even emotional, volatile Kyoutani had gotten his life together after Oikawa's death—the very event that had been the catalyst of the irreparable cracks in their friendship. For a moment, she felt _ashamed_. _It's like everyone has it good except me._ It was a pitiful way of thinking and she tried to shake it off. _No! Focus on the matter. This isn't just about you, it's about Yahaba._ "Well," she said. "I'll be honest with you, then. I've missed you. I've missed you and Shigeru-kun... To the point where it hurts thinking about you guys. We used to be so close. What happened? Kyoutani-kun—I'm selfish. I just... want to have what we used to have. I've been," to her horror, she began to tear up, "so lonely without you two."

Some indecipherable emotion flashed in Kyoutani's usually fierce eyes. "Tsuji—"

"Shigeru-kun and I... Our friendship couldn't survive without you. But I don't want to ruin your life. If you don't want to see us, that's fine. I know how bad things got back then. I just... I just wanted to see if things could work out." _Stop crying!_ she scolded herself, trying to ignore the building wetness in her eyes. None of them had fallen yet, but they would soon, and she needed to leave before Kyoutani could see them and think that she was trying to emotionally manipulate him. "Um, I-I hope you don't mind if I call you once in a while. Oh, and—I'm gonna go visit Shigeru-kun."

"Tsuji, will you shut up for a second?" Kyoutani growled. "Sit. Down. Don't interrupt me."

She huffed. "You really have such an awful way with words!"

"Because you're so damn annoying!"

Maybe there was something broken in her mind, because she snickered. _If I had a yen for every time he said that to me or Shigeru-kun..._ Tsuji was wrong—he _had_ changed, and she was beginning to notice it now. His edges had been dulled by the years. He sounded nowhere as cruel as he had during their school days. Even when he snapped at her, his tone had been lukewarm at best.

"Look," Kyoutani sighed. "I was doing fine. But that doesn't mean... That I'll just—I'll just ignore this. Fuck, Tsuji—he was my friend, too. You both were." He glared at the table. "I was a piss-baby coward back then. Running away like that. I won't do it again. Especially if Yahaba needs us."

"So..." Tsuji looked at him with wide eyes. "You'll do it? You'll come see him with me?"

Kyoutani contemplated his response. "What if I want to do more than that?" he asked her, quite seriously.

"Like what?"

"How much is your apartment rent?"

Tsuji grimaced. "More than it's worth, if I'm being honest. Yours?"

"Cheap. I live in a block for the team."

 _Lucky bastard._ Tsuji leaned back in her chair and waved a waitress over for an iced coffee. Once she was gone, Tsuji asked, "Where are you going with this?"

Kyoutani shrugged. "Wanna live together?"

"What?!"

* * *

Later that day, Tsuji returned home and fell into her bed in a daze. _Kyoutani-kun... wants to live together... with me and Shigeru-kun?_ It had been the last thing she would've expected for him to suggest, especially so straightforwardly!

In the end, she had told him that she would think about it.

 _Is he insane?!_ a part of her screamed in her mind. _Does he even realize what the implications of a young, sexy girl like me sharing a home with more than one guy are?!_

But the bigger part of her pushed it aside. The bigger part of her wanted it so _badly_ that it ached. To move out of this shitty studio apartment and share a place with two of her most precious people with six years of silence to catch up on... _Goddammit. This would mean uprooting, well, everything. I'm financially stable, but that could change at any time._

_Can... Can I really take this leap?_

_Am... I ready for this?_

Tsuji buried her face in her pillow.

* * *

**June 3rd, 2018**

"We're just looking," Tsuji said for the nth time that day.

 _Fucking hell._ Kyoutani deadpanned at her as they got off the bus together. "Are you a broken record or something?"

Tsuji sniffed. "We have to be careful about this."

"Whatever. I'm not worried about money."

"Of course you're not, you... you volleyball butthead!"

"Butthead?" Kyoutani parroted. "Did you just call me a _butthead_?" _She's so weird._ He smiled, though, making sure to walk ahead of her so she wouldn't be able to see it. He could've also called her something a lot worse and unforgivable but he refrained from doing so. He didn't need Tsuji to show up in his apartment while he was asleep and deck him on the head with her softball bat on top of everything else.

"And?" retorted Tsuji. "It's true! We're moving in together and you're not even considering the financial strain!"

"Calm down. It's a boarding house, not a damn luxury condo."

They arrived at the boarding house five minutes later. Kyoutani could practically see the gears in Tsuji's head turning as she noted down the convenience of the bus stop being nearby the house.

The landlord came out to greet them. "Welcome!"

A tour of the house proceeded. According to the landlord, there were currently four other occupants—the maximum amount of people the place could house was six, but one of the occupants would be moving out to a university dorm next semester, which meant there was enough space for three additional persons.

"Your new roommates are all out today," the landlord said as he led them to the common living space. "But here's a list of all their names!" He pointed to a piece of paper stuck on the wall.

The list of names read:

_Akaashi Keiji_

_Yamamoto Akane_

_Kawanishi Taichi_

_Nametsu Mai_

"She," the landlord pointed to Akane's name, which was written in neat cursive, "secured an on-campus dorm, so we'll be saying goodbye to her soon. But," he chuckled, "just in time for the three of you, huh? Where's the third one, anyway?"

"Oh, he's busy today," Tsuji replied, lying as easily as she breathed. "Can you show us the kitchen, please?"

Tsuji took care of most of the talking. Kyoutani mostly just wandered around, observing the interior of the household. No matter—Tsuji was a far better conversationalist than he was anyway. It made him wonder, truly, how she could possibly be so lonely.

 _Back in school, she was always surrounded by friends and admirers,_ Kyoutani thought, eyeing the back of Tsuji's head. Before she could catch him staring, he turned his head and pretended to find great interest in a plastic potted plant in the hall. _I didn't realize... You'd depend on us so much._

The tour was approximately twenty minutes long. By the time they emerged, talking of accommodations fees and money and all that junk, the eleven o'clock NPA broadcast had already begun. Kyoutani plugged his earphones in and watched on his phone.

_"Good morning, Japan. I am Inspector Yagami Light. Today, I am speaking on behalf of all of the NPA. We promised the citizens of Japan to fulfill our responsibilities of upholding justice. But today, the weight of injustice sits heavy upon our shoulders. There is no way around it. We have failed. The NPA... fully acknowledges the consequences of our failure and the pain we have caused the Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Miya families."_

"Tch." Kyoutani clicked his tongue. "Leave it up to the authorities for an empty apology..." _This is just damage control._ He glanced over at where Tsuji and the landlord were still speaking. At some point, Tsuji had whipped out a pocket calculator.

Kyoutani Kentarou liked his life.

But he also had many regrets.

_I shouldn't have run away._

What an overemotional brat he had been back then. Yahaba hadn't been much better, and Tsuji had been too passive in her attempts to reconcile them, but... _At least we have a chance now, right?_

"Fine. I'll do it." Tsuji's voice wafted through the air. "I'll write up a cheque..."

"What?" Kyoutani strode over to where they were standing, yanking his earphones out and shoving his phone back into his jeans pocket. "A cheque for what?"

"I'm putting a deposit in so that we effectively have claim over the three spots."

"Didn't you say that we were just gonna look today?" For an accountant, Tsuji was unbelievable. "What happened to that? Are you stupid?"

Tsuji pouted. "This place is perfect, Kyoutani-kun! And... And I have faith in Yahaba-kun's recovery! I think he'll want to live with us once he leaves the institution! And our roommates are all young guys and girls like us!"

"You better not regret this," warned Kyoutani.

"I won't!" Tsuji beamed.

Kyoutani huffed a sigh. _Silly girl._

* * *

**June 24th, 2018**

"It's been so lonely without the two of you here," Yahaba confessed through snot and tears. Kyoutani couldn't see his face. A part of him was thankful for that—if he saw, he didn't know what he would do.

"We're here now," Tsuji said, on the verge of tears. "We're not going anywhere."

A promise.

When they had first been escorted out the garden with their visitors passes hanging around their necks, Kyoutani hadn't known what to expect. But seeing Yahaba in a wheelchair—

Kyoutani exhaled sharply. "You _idiot_."

Yahaba tilted his chin up, blinking up at Kyoutani wide large brown eyes. His cheeks were stained with tear-tracks. "Eh?"

"If you weren't in a wheelchair, I'd smack the shit outta you," Kyoutani ground out, trying to ignore the way he could feel his sinuses building up. _Don't cry. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_ —

"Kyoutani-kun!" berated Tsuji, horrified. "You—"

Whatever she'd been about to say next went unheard as Kyoutani sank to his knees in front of Yahaba. Now Yahaba was the one looking down at him, surprise still scrawled across his features. He was still crying but Kyoutani didn't think Yahaba even noticed. "Are—are you alright now? If you're not, it's fine. But once you are, we have lots of things to do."

Yahaba sniffed. "Like what?"

"We're gonna go to the arcade," Kyoutani told him. "We're gonna drive to the beach—Tsuji has her license even if she doesn't have a car; we can rent one—and go for a hike in the mountains. We're gonna play volleyball and eat watermelon and relax afterwards at an onsen. We'll wake up every morning in the same house. We'll get so fucking sick of each other that we'll want to beat each other up. But that won't matter in the end because we'll order a pizza for dinner and get drunk on convenience store beers and laugh at how stupid we all are. Do you want that? Do you want that, _Yahaba Shigeru?_ "

Tsuji covered her mouth with her hands, facing away from them so they wouldn't see her break down.

"Yes!" Yahaba burst out. "Yes! Let's... Let's do all of that!"

Kyoutani flinched when Yahaba reached forward and clutched his face, but ultimately stayed still. The pads of Yahaba's thumbs grazed across a spot under his eye, coming back wet.

"I've missed you guys."

 _Dammit!_ Kyoutani bit down on his lip so hard that he drew blood. Unable to say anything else, he patted the grass off his knees and clung to Yahaba's skinny frame, Tsuji coming in for another hug from the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Nurse Arima Wakana is from a Death Note one-shot I wrote last December I believe. I originally planned for only one more chapter left after this, but it'll have to be 2 more instead.
> 
> Fun fact: My dad (55 turning 56 years old) is a koreaboo. I'm not even kidding (wish I was). He speaks koreaboo to my mom and I. He'll be speaking normally in Cantonese and he drops a few Korean words here and there I want to cry, he even talks to the family cat in butchered Korean why am i still here just to suffer


	60. Epilogue (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family bonding time. Almost.

**June 24th, 2018**

The daily life of Kuroo Tetsurou was enviable. Recently, he had moved in with his superstar girlfriend in a posh neighborhood. Now, his typical daily routine consisted of heading to work—stopping by the coffee shop for an iced americano before his train left—speaking with several big names in the v-league, and returning home to Oishi for amazing sex. Truly enviable.

But today...

"Sir." A vein throbbed in Kuroo's cheek as he forced a smile at the blue-haired man-child sitting opposite him. "We're going for a more 'family friendly' advertisement. What you've just, ah, described to me... Doesn't really fit the brief." _I gave up my Sunday for this?_ His superior had assigned him to this task last week but if he had known how difficult his clients were, he would have protested.

"What do you mean?" complained b-league star Aomine Daiki.

"Well, _sir_ ," Kuroo said through gritted teeth. "Scantily-clad 'bikini babes'," he did air-quotes, "as you've so brilliantly sketched out for me here," a finger tapped on the piece of paper with disproportionately well-endowed stick figures, "unfortunately do _not_ meet our family friendly criteria."

His current project was quite an important one—a collaboration between the v-league and the b-league to draw more fans into the sports. There would be a laid-back exhibition match happening soon where the players would be swapping sports, and Kuroo was in charge of coming up with several promotional billboard designs with the players that would be featuring on the signs.

"If the honkers are the issue," Aomine argued. "I could always pose like this"—he threw his arms out—"and boom! Boobs covered."

"You are not a clown," said Hoshiumi. "You are the entire circus."

With how frustrating Aomine was proving to be, Kuroo had almost forgotten that there were more people sitting at the table with them. Some were even eating fried chicken, taking the opportunity away from their coaches to indulge in junk food.

"What was that, small-fry?!" Aomine glared. "You're, like, the size of my _bicep_."

"I could take out your kneecaps, you tall freak!"

"No one's taking out anyone's kneecaps," Kuroo placated with a sigh. _I don't get paid enough for this._ "I'd appreciate it if you gentlemen would refrain from brawling like grade schoolers, thanks." As he said this, he gave the rest of them—Ushijima Wakatoshi, Kiryuu Wakatsu, Kiyoshi Teppei, and Takao Kazunari—a hairy eyeball. Three volleyball players and three basketball players. Each billboard design had to include one player of each sport. "Okay. Let's start small. We should decide who should partner with who in each picture."

"Anyone but him," Hoshiumi and Aomine said at the same time, glaring.

At this rate, Kuroo would have better luck drawing names from a hat. Massaging his temples, Kuroo turned to the silent players. "What about you guys?"

"I don't mind," Ushijima said, unhelpfully.

Kiryuu scratched his cheek, a little shy. "I can work with whoever."

Kiyoshi echoed their sentiments, and Takao said nothing because he had somehow fit a whole chicken drumstick in his mouth.

"Right!" Kuroo clapped his hands together, doing his best not to cry and flip the table over. He'd probably pull a muscle doing so. "Names out of a hat it is, then!"

"Isn't that a bit degrading?" Takao finally swallowed his chicken.

"Yeah," agreed Hoshiumi, crossing his arms. "We're not elementary school kids."

"Really?!" Kuroo's eye twitched. "Because I sure as hell can't tell the difference right now!"

By the time Kuroo had managed to make them do anything productive, half the day was over. It was four in the afternoon when they all went their separate ways with a promise to meet again next week. Naturally, Kuroo had to foot the bill for six famished professional athletes.

He could not _wait_ to get back to his girlfriend.

Then his credit card declined at the counter.

Kuroo groaned, passing one hand through his hair and ruining the effort he had put in to gelling it this morning. His natural bed-hair was hard to tame, goddammit. "Sorry about that," he apologized to the unimpressed cashier. "Um, do you take cash?" He sifted through his wallet. Empty. "Actually, on second thoughts, lemme just run down to the bank quickly—"

"No worries. I got it."

Kuroo whipped around, gawking at the tall woman who was now tapping her card at the machine. The payment went through, the machine spitting out a receipt. "You didn't have to—"

"No, really." She grinned at him, and it was like looking in a mirror. "I wanted to."

 _Wait... She's...!_ "Do... Do I call you 'big sis'?" Kuroo asked, lamely.

Kuroo Rina giggled. "Just Rina is fine."

Kuroo hadn't spoken with his big sister since he was about seven or eight. Dad had gotten custody of him, and mom had taken Rina with her. "You were at the trial," Kuroo remembered with no small amount of awe. "You testified against that scumbag!"

They ended up seated at a table with two iced americanos. Apparently, Kuroo's favorite was also Rina's favorite.

"How did you find me here?" Kuroo asked.

"It was coincidence, actually." Rina slurped her drink. "I live around here. Me and the hubby have a nice house down the road."

"You're married?"

"Not for love," Rina felt the need to share, "My hubby's sweet, but he's not really my type. We _are_ married, though, and I _did_ convince him not to sign a prenup... I have basically nothing to my name except a secret savings account, so you can probably tell how divorce will turn out if it comes to that."

"Oh, you are _evil_."

Was this what his sister was like? He could barely recall anything about her personality as a child, but she seemed downright awful now. Kuroo didn't mind, though, strangely enough. In fact, he found it difficult to imagine her as anything else.

"I'm only evil if we get divorced," Rina said, wisely. "If we don't, then I'm a sweet lil' wifey. So what are you up to, Tetsu-kun? Oh, can I call you that?"

Kuroo waved her concern away. "I don't mind. I'm a junior executive now. I work for the JVA."

"You're in the porn industry?!"

A few judgmental eyes shifted their way.

"Japan Volleyball Association!" Kuroo cried. "Not Japanese Adult Video!"

"Oohhh! That's so cool of you, Tetsu-kun!"

Kuroo turned his nose up. "Right? Aren't I awesome?"

They talked into the evening. It was almost six o'clock when Rina asked, "Do you think we should go see daddy sometime soon?"

"Dad?" Kuroo cocked his head. "Do you want to?" Now that he was a working adult, he didn't see his father as much.

"Yeah! We could go have dinner with him at Tokyo Tower or something." Rina smiled. "I haven't seen daddy since I was a teenager. Well, there was the trial, but that was super wack and totally doesn't count..."

 _I guess it could be nice to visit dad._ Kuroo regarded Rina with caution. Though they were sibling, she was still essentially a stranger to him. _Not to mention her shady personality..._ Rina was exactly what people thought _Kuroo_ was like when they first met him.

Rina sighed, dreamily. "You've grown, Tetsu-kun. You were young back then, but I wasn't. I remember how small and cute you used to be. I can't believe my adorable little brother is now this crook-looking guy."

"Who're you calling a crook?"

There was little harm in giving a family outing a shot. He had no idea what his mom was doing now, but he assumed Rina would be taking care of that matter. Musashi and Kuroo would be able to smell a scam from a mile away, anyway.

"How's daddy?"

"Pretty good. He's not taking the loss too hard. To be honest, I get the feeling that he didn't even want to win in the first place."

Rina was sympathetic. "When your clients are monsters, it's easy to assume that you're one, too, huh?"

"Too easy."

His big sister paid for the coffees between lighthearted promises to certainly have a family reunion sometime soon.

Kuroo Tetsurou—

Yes, his life truly was enviable.

* * *

**June 25th, 2018**

Kageyama walked a few paces behind Hinata, backpack slung over one shoulder. The sleeves of his jacket were rolled up due to the summer heat—it'd been colder this morning, but it was starting to warm up considerably now. There was a lecture today, but he would catch up later online. He craned his neck, peering up at the treatment centre. There wasn't much color to it, though it was more modern than Kageyama would've expected.

Hinata was holding a map of the grounds. "This is it," he said, scrutinizing the building in similar fashion. "Hey, Kageyama?"

"Hm?" Kageyama stopped beside him, glancing down.

"I'm scared," Hinata confessed.

"Dumbass." Kageyama jabbed his knuckle into the crown of Hinata's skull. "What are you so afraid of? She's your sister." And she was alive. Hinata's sister was alive.

"Exactly."

"You're scared of your sister?"

"I'm scared of what I'll find." Hinata faced forward, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. "They said she was getting better... But what if she isn't? What if she relapsed?"

His fears gave Kageyama paused. Hinata was usually so self-assured and outgoing that it was hard to forget that he harbored insecurities just like everyone else. _What should I do? Hug? Kiss? Tell him it's okay?_ Eventually, he said, "You won't know unless you go in."

Hinata squared his shoulders. "You're right. Come on, Kageyama!" He laced his fingers in-between Kageyama's and pulled him toward the building.

Kageyama stood to the side as Hinata spoke with the receptionist. A sheet on a clipboard was brought out from behind the desk, and Kageyama and Hinata both signed their names in the appropriate boxes before being given visitors passes.

The lanyard made the nape of his neck itch. He put up with it, not saying a word as Hinata muttered Natsu's room name over and over again, checking each door carefully. Kageyama spotted it first. "There." He pointed at a door with the sign _3A_ on it. "That's her room."

"Eep!" What a strange noise Hinata had made. It had almost sounded like the peeping of a baby bird. But Hinata was not a baby. Nor was he a bird. Kageyama chucked him a look. "Oi! Don't make that face at me!" Hinata wiped his hands down his jeans. "I'm just nervous, okay?"

"Then don't be nervous."

"It's not that easy!"

Apprehensively, Hinata raised his fist. Then he tapped on the door. Once. Twice.

"Come in!" a muffled voice, distinctively female, replied.

"Oh my god," Hinata muttered, breaking into cold sweat. "Kageyama, hold my hand."

Kageyama obliged.

With one shaking hand, Hinata pushed down on the door handle. The first thing Kageyama registered was the way the curtains were blowing back, window wide open. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, a figure blurred into view. A head of faded orange—naturally unruly and curling down her back. Facing the window, she was in pajama-like wear, her feet disappearing into fluffy brown slippers.

The girl, all of sixteen years old, turned.

Kageyama blinked.

"Natsu!"

The next thing he knew, Hinata had vanished from his side.

Seeing it was best to allow them some space, Kageyama stood back, lingering at the doorway. _I should look away,_ a part of him thought, but Kageyama couldn't.

"Shouyou!"

It didn't take long for Hinata to start _bawling_. Natsu wasn't far behind either, but she was doing a better job at holding it together than he was. She lost to herself eventually, sniffling and hiding her face against Hinata's chest like a young child.

Kageyama receded further back, well aware he was intruding on an extremely private and intimate moment. Not sure what to do with himself, Kageyama fiddled with the straps of his backpack, a certain discomfort crawling under his skin.

By all means, it was a happy event. After two years of zero contact, Hinata had finally gotten to see his sister again—and she was no longer unwell. Kageyama had seen some of the drug-addicted kids during his stint in juvenile prison. They'd looked constantly on the verge of death. And Natsu, she—she was the _opposite_. Cheeks round and glowing under the sun. A little pale, but some time outdoors would fix that.

_I should be happy for him._

And he was.

He gripped the fabric of his shirt, over where his heart beat. _This has nothing to do with me. So why...?_ Kageyama closed his eyes, imagining their arms wrapped around him, too. Only they weren't Hinata and Natsu, but rather—

_Miwa, mom, and grandpa, too._

Their absence hit him like a truck, tearing him into pieces and grinding what was left of him into the pristine floors of the centre.

_I'm..._

Kageyama swallowed back the bitter pill.

Hinata was laughing at whatever Natsu had said, one hand ruffling her hair.

_I'm so jealous of you, Shouyou._

It felt so _wrong_.

He didn't want to be jealous.

All he wanted was—

"Why're you just standing there, Bakageyama?!" Hinata waved him over. His tears were dry now. "Come meet my little sister, you big jerk!"

"Eh?" Kageyama flinched. "But I'm not..."

_I'm not family._

Sensing his reluctance, Natsu went over to him, the soles of her slippers slapping against the ground. "Hello," she said, smiling warmly at him. "Shouyou was just telling me about you. I'm Natsu, by the way! It's nice to meetcha."

"Ah..." Kageyama glanced down at her, feeling large and out of place. She was so much _shorter_ than him, and thin as a twig to boot. "Nu... nuff... Nice to meet you... I'm... Kageyama... Tobio."

"Knife?" Hinata snickered as he made his way over to where they were standing.

Kageyama's lips puckered sourly. "Shut up, dumbass!"

"Wahaha! Says the one who can't even speak to my teenage sister!"

Natsu let out a loud, belly-deep laugh. "Leave him alone, Shouyou! I can't let you bully my future brother-in-law like that."

"Brother-in-law?" both of them echoed in unison, color rising to their cheeks.

"Oh, please. It's totally obvious." Natsu grinned impishly. "I'm not _blind_ , you two. Tobio- _nii_ ," Kageyama nearly choked on his spit, "as long as you treat Shouyou right, we're cool. You can do that, right?"

Hinata flushed even redder. "Natsu—"

"Yes," promised Kageyama. "I can do that."

"Welcome to the family, then, Tobio- _nii_." Natsu's smile dimmed somewhat as she added, "It's not a very big one. Just the two of us. But," here, her smile brightened once more, "We'd love to have you around! Right, Shouyou?"

Still taken aback by Natsu's straightforwardness, Hinata cleared his throat in an attempt to deepen his voice. "Uh—right."

"Family?" It seemed all Kageyama could do today was repeat words. The notion cycled around his brain before it finally smacked him between the eyes. "Huh. Family."

"If you'll have us," Hinata said. "We'll make you an honorary _Hinata_."

"I," Kageyama started, stammering. "Yes. Sure."

"Pfft! Relax a little, Bakageyama!"

"Yeah!" chimed Natsu. "Loosen those shoulders!"

 _Family..._ Pure, unadulterated joy welled up in his chest. Kageyama didn't bother fighting down a wobbly smile as he tried to let his shoulders sag. "Alright, alright. We're family. But," he tacked on, "I think... I have to make a phone call."

Whether or not the Hinata siblings had accepted him as one of their own—

_I still need to do this._

_She_ —

_She's family, too._

They let him go without any fuss. Kageyama ducked out the hall, phone already in hand and thumb hovering over the number collecting dust in his contacts. The name he had assigned her was terribly impersonal. Cold, even. His heart pounded, and he regretted ever talking down on Hinata for his earlier anxiety. _This must've been what he felt like._ He worried his bottom lip.

_I can do this._

_I can._

_I can._

_I_ —

Kageyama pressed down.

The dial tone started up, tapering off at measured intervals.

Time seemed to slow to crawl.

He was beginning to think that she wouldn't answer. Kageyama was about to let his arm fall to the side when a click sounded.

_"Hello? Is... Is that you, Tobio?"_

Kageyama's mouth went dry. Silently wetting his lips, he nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him.

"Hey, mom."

* * *

**July 1st, 2018**

He panted as he ran, eyes blown wide and coat whipping behind him. He smelled like work—like dust and ashes and smoke. When he'd heard the news, Matsukawa had immediately told his boss of the circumstances and dashed down to the station to catch the next train to Sendai.

_It can't end like this._

But the end was near—looming over him like a great shadow.

And nobody would be facing this end except for him and him alone.

Matsukawa arrived at the hospital at record time, wind at his heels.

There were some relatives waiting in hallway outside Hanamaki's room. Matsukawa recognized one of them—the aunt that had taken Hanamaki in when he was twelve and still coping with the death of his mother. There were several more aunts and uncles, most of them unfamiliar to him. He had severe doubts that Hanamaki even knew most of them.

They were silent and solemn, only reacting when he appeared in their peripherals.

"How is he?" Matsukawa demanded. "Makki— _Hiro_ —he—"

"Don't worry. We waited for you," said an aunt.

 _Am I supposed to be fucking grateful?_ Matsukawa couldn't calm his racing heart. He supposed he shouldn't have expected anything more from these people. They owed him nothing—he was lucky to even be able to get to see him for the last time before they pulled his life support.

It'd been just a little over two years.

 _I should write a_ book, Matsukawa told himself, mind fogged over like he had taken too many painkillers. _What should I call it? 'On love and loss'. Something pretentious like that, but not completely out of left field_.

"Go," an uncle encouraged, nudging Matsukawa forward.

"Don't _touch_ me," Matsukawa snapped, jerking away from him. "God, just— _don't_. _Please_. I—I'm sorry." Without waiting for a response, Matsukawa entered the room, closing the door behind him.

_We were always laughing, the two of us._

Matsukawa sat down at Hanamaki's bedside, a numb horror settling over him.

_Look's like I get the last laugh after all._

"Hey," said Matsukawa. "Did you know? You were wrong in the end. It wasn't him. It wasn't Iwaizumi." He closed his eyes. "You stupid, stupid fool. You should've seen the trial. I think—I think you would've liked it, even if it meant that you were wrong." _Deep down, I know you wanted to be wrong, anyway._

The rise and fall of Hanamaki's chest was barely noticeable. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, obscuring the hollowness of his cheeks. The doctors had shaved his hair—had kept shaving it for the sake of easy maintenance.

He could still remember the call.

_"It's been two years already. We can't afford to keep him like this any longer. We don't have the funds, and it's simply cruel to let him exist as a shell."_

They'd mentioned the money first.

"It's the first of the month," Matsukawa chatted to Hanamaki, lacing his fingers behind his head. "We get some real freaks coming in. Some mama's boy wanted to snort her ashes. People are fucking weird. We had to keep watch over him during the bone-picking to make sure he wouldn't try anything funny. He kept yelling: 'Mama Michiko! Mama Michiko's lovely bones'! Like I said. Fucking weird. Right?"

No answer.

Only the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Matsukawa drooped. _I don't know what the hell I was expecting. Some miracle?_ He clasped his hands in front of him—so tightly that his knuckles began to balk. _Wake up, Hiro. Wake up._

Nothing happened.

"Please," he whispered. "Wake up, Hiro. I'm here. I'll be here if you just open your damn eyes."

_How did things come to this?_

Logically, Matsukawa knew. Hanamaki had been pushed over the edge by Oikawa's death. From mood swings and depressive episodes, Matsukawa hadn't known what to do with him. But he had always kept him close, even following him to university despite originally having no intention to do tertiary education. How ironic it was, that Matsukawa had completed his university studies when Hanamaki had dropped out. The reason was so ugly and raw that he didn't even want to think it.

Depression and drugs were never a good mix.

He remembered—remembered when Hanamaki had left a trail of forged receipts for the police to follow right to his doorstep. They'd arrested and charged him, and Matsukawa thought that was the moment Hanamaki's life had truly been over. They'd lost contact shortly after that. Sometime later, Hanamaki's relatives had called him and informed him (and a few others) of his condition.

Hanamaki had survived an overdose. Whether he would ever wake up or not was another story, though. The doctors gave it a nigh zero percent chance.

"Even if he did," they'd said. "He'd live as a vegetable for the rest of his life."

Matsukawa rubbed his eyes.

Again, he asked himself, _How did things come to this?_

Again, logically, he _knew_.

He just didn't want to accept it.

He _couldn't_.

_I don't want our story to end like this._

But it was coming to a close anyway, and nothing he said or did would change that.

Matsukawa did not cry or scream. He was still and silent—a sullen ghost. _I've already seen death many times. What's one more?_ But, no—this was _different_. Undeniably different at its core. This was _Hanamaki_.

He covered his mouth with his hands.

He wanted to _vomit_.

Hanamaki couldn't _die_. God, was he an idiot or what? He worked in a funeral home—saw bodies wheeled in and out and turned to ashes every day—and yet he had never considered Hanamaki's mortality.

There was no life after death. This was Matsukawa's belief. Which also meant that this would be the last time he ever saw Hanamaki.

"I'm not ready," Matsukawa said out loud, taking Hanamaki's limp hand in his own. "Makki... Makki! _Hiro!_ Wake up! Wake the _fuck_ up!"

Silence.

_Why can't I cry?_

Matsukawa palmed his face. His hands were cold and clammy.

He tried to summon tears but they never came.

This—this _thing_ that was building up in his chest—it wouldn't go away.

They hadn't told him how much time he had, had they?

Matsukawa took Hanamaki's hand again, squeezing once before slumping—carefully—over his still form. He was still warm. _Alive_. Skinny and atrophied but _alive_. Matsukawa closed his eyes, his cheek pressed against Hanamaki's blanket-covered abdomen. "Goodbye," he croaked, thumb grazing the back of Hanamaki's pale hand. "I should probably say it now, right? But... I don't want to say goodbye yet."

Never in his life had Matsukawa wanted so badly to believe in a god. The existence of a god meant that something existed after death—whether it was heaven or another earth or the same one but with different shoes to walk in.

"I'm going to write a book," Matsukawa told him. "You have to be there. See it get published. Pull me back down to earth when my head gets too big. We all did that for Oikawa, and since he's not here to return the favor, it's up to you."

His hand shook.

" _Please_."

A strangled sob finally emerged.

_"Please don't leave."_

Hanamaki's relatives found him hunched across their nephew. They helped him up and out of the room, doing him the only kindness they could by making sure he wouldn't look back as the heart monitor took a sharp but anticlimactic descent into a flat line.

* * *

At seven in the evening, Naoko got the text.

 **[Matsukawa]** : He's gone.

Her gut clenched.

 **[Naoko]:** I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There was a reference to an otome game (Liar! Uncover the Truth) in here somewhere. Also, if you noticed, it gets progressively depressing as the chapter goes down. Lmao.
> 
> Theme for this chapter was 'family' ig??
> 
> I did promise in the replies of some comments that Makki's fate would be anticlimactic to the point of disappointment, so I hope I lived up to that :)
> 
> Only one more chapter after this. Then it's over. Huh.


	61. Epilogue (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, it was time to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, here we are. Not too sure what to say. It's over folks—this is the last chapter. Thank you for sticking around for this long and reading through over 60 chapters of my self-indulgence. Thank you especially to Blue and Jelly. You guys rock. Also a special mention for Lena—without you, boytoy would've just stayed in my notes.

**July 4th, 2018**

The dorm was spacious. As soon as she entered the door, she found herself confronted by the living area. Another girl was already there and figuring how the remote control worked. She looked up as she entered. "Hey! You must be one of my new roommates."

She nodded, enthusiastic. "That's right! My name is Yamamoto Akane—it's nice to meet you!"

The other girl held out a hand, which Akane took. "It's nice to meet you, too. I'm Makoshima Sumire. You a first year?"

"Second year," clarified Akane. "What about you?"

"I'm postgrad."

"Oh! So you're a _senpai_ , then."

"Ah..." Sumire scratched her cheek. "Don't worry about all that stuff. Formalities take the fun outta everything."

Their other two roommates—both girls—arrived soon after. They all got introduced to one another. Sumire was the oldest out of the girls, and she quickly took charge of the discussion, though it was evident she didn't take her newfound social position too seriously.

They picked out their beds—Sumire and Akane both got saddled with the top bunks.

While the other girls unpacked and continued their conversation, Akane climbed into her top bunk to put down her pillow and blankets. A comfortable bed was very important for a good night's sleep, as her good friend Haiba Alisa had once told her.

As she fluffed her pillow, the conversation in the living area waning into the background, she noticed writing on the wall, near the ceiling. _Huh? Did someone do that? Why?_

She stood on her knees to get a closer look.

The words weren't proper sentences, but rather just names.

**Kindaichi Yuutarou**

**Kunimi Akira**

**Yahaba Shigeru**

**Goshiki Tsutomu**

Akane muttered the names under her breath.

Of course, the dorm had belonged to others before she and the girls came. Had they not wanted to be forgotten? Was there some sort of significance behind the words? She didn't know why, but she felt a lingering sadness in them.

_'Don't forget us'._

_'We were here, too'._

"Hmm..." Akane gazed at the words before being interrupted.

"Akane!" called Sumire. "Come down, we're about to start playing twenty questions!"

"Oh! Coming!"

* * *

**July 17th, 2018**

Arms stretched in the air as the students filed out of the lecture hall, excitedly sharing the answers they had penned down on today's mock exam. Some were less enthused, complaining of how they'd thought they'd left mock exams behind in high school, while others left immediately without bothering with conversation. A few planned outings at the local barbecue restaurant to celebrate the completion of an intensive week of exams, completely forgetting that their real exams were coming up very soon.

Law could be absolutely soul-sucking sometimes. Kindaichi didn't fault them for wanting to drink away their stress and fill their stomachs with delicious meat. He lingered outside the theatre, holding his books to his chest as to lighten the load in his backpack. It had been open book—Kindaichi had brought in as many non-electronic resources as he'd been allowed to.

Now, he was waiting.

It was a little embarrassing to admit, actually. Things like this always were.

Kindaichi was waiting for—

"Yuutarou-kun!"

Kindaichi beamed. "Shino-chan!"

Iwasaki Shino, his girlfriend since late June, trotted up to him with a cake box.

If Kunimi were here, Kindaichi knew that he would pretend to violently barf all over the floor. Well, that guy could go fuck himself because Kindaichi's sweet, adorable girlfriend was simply worth all the initial shyness.

"How was the test?" Shino asked as they fell into stride together.

"Awful," Kindaichi groused. "I feel like I only got, like, seventy percent of it right."

"You'll do great." Shino intertwined their fingers, her free hand balancing the cake box. "Guess what flavor I got you."

"Uhh, chocolate?"

"Close enough. It's red velvet!"

"Uwoh! You went all out today, Shino-chan!"

Kunimi would have likely joined them just to be a nuisance of a third-wheel today had he not been finishing up his latest thesis. It was due to be submitted tomorrow; he'd been working on it all semester and not even the opportunity to tease Kindaichi would tear him away from his laptop. Mitsuhara Otome probably would be a better person to engage in intellectual discussion with, anyway.

Normally, Kindaichi would be leaping for joy at the chance of spending some time with Shino. Ever since he had rescued her in May, they'd started seeing each other more and more often. Naturally, it had developed into a relationship. But today...

"Are you okay, Yuutarou-kun? You seem a little down."

"Ah, well..." Kindaichi smiled weakly. "I'm going back to Miyagi on the twentieth..."

"Oh?" Shino gave him a curious look. "What's wrong with that?"

There was nothing, in truth, inherently wrong with visiting home. Kindaichi had been back to Miyagi twice this year already—once with his old roommates before the spring semester commenced and once more after he'd been shot on the rooftop.

His shoulder twinged at the reminder. It would bother him on and off for the rest of his life.

"Everyone's coming," Kindaichi said, quietly. "All the old boys from Seijoh."

Shino was smart enough to infer what he meant. "So you'll be saying goodbye."

Oikawa's name hung in the air between them. Kindaichi made no move to address it, however, instead glancing heavenward. The trees were already starting to brown. Autumn was coming in, and soon after that would be winter. _It's all gone by so fast._ It'd already been nearly two months since Shō had been sentenced to death. The fate of Daizen's corrupt associates was a little more complicated, the investigation into their corruption still ongoing. It was a losing battle, but Daizen fought with great vigor to make things as difficult as possible for the police and the prosecutors. Miyazawa had gotten off relatively easier—a suspended prison sentence and orders to never practice again, which didn't matter much as Miyazawa had been on the verge of retirement anyway. There was some news on Noriko, too—her circumstances had been taken into consideration and her sentence was light. Rehabilitation-focused rather than punishment-focused.

Earlier this year, he'd been hunting a murderer.

Now the biggest thing on his plate was _exam week_ , so laughably insignificant in comparison.

The world certainly worked in strange ways.

"What if I'm not ready?" Kindaichi sighed, something cold and icy coiling in the pit of his stomach as he envisioned himself in front of the abyss, Oikawa's peaceful face floating in the darkness. "What if I totally lose my shit?"

Shino appraised him. "We're never ready for these sorts of things. It's okay to cry and scream if you need to, you know. Don't be afraid to show how much he meant to you—I'm sure the others will," her smile turned a little sad, "'lose their shit', too. Yuutarou-kun... You're not alone."

No. He wasn't, was he?

"Thank you," he said, honestly.

He leaned in for a kiss, one she gladly reciprocated.

* * *

**July 18th, 2018**

There was a mild halation surrounding the meadow. Sakusa found that the soil and the grass were soft underfoot as he got out of his car, closing the door. Nearby, Midorima was also parked along the dirt trail cutting through the field. He was donning something more casual than his usual suits—a pressed white shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and dark slacks.

Midorima looked him up and down—took in his neon green polo shirt and khaki jeans. "Hmm..."

"What?" Sakusa lifted a brow. "Do I have something on my face?" It was one of the rare times that Sakusa had opted out of wearing his mask. After all, they were basically in the middle of nowhere with no dirty crowds for miles.

"No." Midorima's lips quirked up in a smile. "I was just thinking—your _true_ fashion sense hasn't changed at all."

"Oh, shut up," he grumbled, kicking a loose pebble with the toe of his shoe. "Why did you call me out here? Specifically, why _all the way_ out here?"

"I thought it would be nice. We had a lot of good moments here together as children."

"Huh. I didn't think take you as the type to reminisce..."

Midorima shook his head. "I'm not. But with you, I can't help but reminisce anyway."

Sakusa could recall the times. The times they had lay down next to each other on picnic blankets, Midorima rambling about star signs and luck and Sakusa doing his best not to let the good weather lull him to sleep. Midorima teaching him about the different types of clouds in the sky and none of the information retaining in Sakusa's brain. _You're surprisingly tender-hearted, Midorima._ He breathed a sigh. "They were good times," he admitted, begrudgingly. _Some of the best times of my life._

"I knew you'd agree."

And he didn't know _why_ exactly he had to say this, but he just _did_. "I was never jealous. But," he glared at him, "It hurt. When you cast me aside for her. Like some used _toy_."

Midorima dropped his gaze. "I didn't realize," he murmured. "That you felt that way. I'm sorry."

"Are you? When... have you ever been sorry for anything?"

"You'd be surprised."

Another innocent pebble flew through the air, courtesy of Sakusa's foot. "How's your wife?"

"Recovering," Midorima reported, looking mildly pleased that the subject of conversation had shifted to her. "We go in and out of the centre every day. She burned her uniform last night. It's a step forward."

"Uniform?"

"Her Karasuno one," elaborated Midorima. "According to the counselor, there's a lot of trauma attached to it. Her father... He'd make her dress up in it. Do things in it. As you know, Daizen and my father were responsible for the National Youth Offender's Rehabilitation Program." It'd just been another layer of lies for Daizen to obscure himself in. "There was a boy in high school he made Noriko follow around undercover as a student. She hated it. Said it made her feel perverted." His jaw tightened. "That bastard ruined her life."

"And many more," mused Sakusa. "I'm ashamed my father ever associated himself with him."

"I would think the same, but I wouldn't have ever met Noriko if..."

"Yeah. I get it. It's funny, seeing you like this. So out of your depth." He chuckled, humorless. "For the longest time, I thought of you as infallible."

Midorima studied him for a little bit. Studied the faintest crease on his forehead, the way his shoulders hunched, and the way he was scraping the sole of his expensive shoe against the dirt. "They say to never meet your heroes," he said, finally. "Have I fallen from grace in your eyes?"

"You were my hero," Sakusa answered. "But now I see that you are just a man."

A slow smile crept up his cheeks. "I see. Not terrible for a lying liar, huh?"

"You had your reasons."

"I had choices," amended Midorima.

"Yes. And I know now that—every time—you would choose Noriko over me. You're going to keep chasing after her, because that's the sort of sentimental, lovesick fool you are." _I only wish that I hadn't wasted so much time on you._

He did not deny it. "That's true."

Sakusa tilted his head slightly. "Is this goodbye forever?" _That's what you dragged me all the way out here for, isn't it? For one last goodbye._

"That'd probably be for the best. But only if you want it that way."

He seemed to consider this, his brow lowering and his nose scrunching up in frustration. Then, all the tension eased out of his face, and his shoulders loosened. "Go. Go after her. And don't look back."

Midorima bowed his head. "Thank you. Goodbye, Kiyoomi."

Sakusa held out his hand and looked skyward, feeling the first few droplets of rain wet his palm. Then he met Midorima's gaze, nodding sharply. "Goodbye… Shintaro."

Midorima disappeared into his car, sticking his arm out the driver-side window in a final farewell. The window rolled up soon after, leaving Sakusa alone to gaze after the taillights.

Silently, Sakusa ducked into his own vehicle. Before he set off, he leaned across and opened the glove box, where he found today's Oha Asa. For a few seconds, he just stared at it. Then he crumpled it up into a ball, tossing it on the passenger seat and making note to chuck it in the trash when he got home.

* * *

**July 19th, 2018**

"How the _fuck_ did they find where we live?"

That was the first thing Iwaizumi heard when he got home from his morning jog, a sheen of sweat slick on his forehead. Satoshi had been the one to utter the words—and rather darkly, at that—standing over the kitchen table with a pile of letters he had retrieved from the mailbox. "What's that? Fan mail?" he joked. Satoshi had grown up to be quite the handsome young man—whenever Sunano Mina came over for dinner, she would rant and ramble on about how she had to beat other girls off with a stick on a regular basis.

"Fan mail?" Satoshi held a letter up, scowling. "Yeah, right. This isn't the 2000s, old man."

"Oi. Watch who you're calling old," Iwaizumi threatened before pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the fridge. "You kids with all your fancy emails..."

"Text messages," stressed Satoshi. "Nobody sends emails anymore."

Iwaizumi shrugged. "I wouldn't know." And he meant it. He had missed out on six years of technological development.

Satoshi realized this as well, having the decency to look shame-faced before mumbling, "Well, you'll have plenty of time to catch up. I'm not letting my brother become some... some _boomer_."

"'Boomer'? Is that new slang you kids made up?"

Satoshi didn't answer his question, opting instead to shove one of the letters in his face. "Look at all this horseshit! Apologies? From literal strangers? What kind of idiotic cuntface would send us this? People are fucking stupid."

His little brother had a horrible case of what Mina had coined _gamer mouth_ , Iwaizumi thought, but it made something in his chest clench to see the empty words on paper. Evidently, there were people out there who weren't able to sleep at night knowing that they had played some part in denouncing their family. It was truly pathetic. "Just throw it away," he sighed.

"I'll burn it in the garden," Satoshi proclaimed, full of vitriol.

"Nope. No fire. Mom and dad will kill us."

Iwaizumi had been living in his parents' house in Kosaka for the past one and a half months. It had only been the natural move to make. Prior to that, he'd been heavily compensated for his time served as an innocent man—he was now rich enough to live out the rest of his life without having to lift a finger. Not that he had any plans to just sit on his ass. _I want a degree. A job. The last six years back. Not... a pile of cash._ No amount of money would ever be able to buy back the years he had lost—would be able to buy back the only man he had ever loved.

The orange juice sloshed in his cup as he set it down on the kitchen counter.

Satoshi gave him a hesitant glance. "You good?"

"Yeah. Just thinking about tomorrow."

Naoko had been the one to reconnect him with the rest of their former classmates. Well—the ones that had really mattered, anyway. Matsukawa, Yuda, Yahaba, Kyoutani, Watari, Kindaichi, Kunimi... She hadn't bothered with Sawauchi and Shido. Perhaps it was for the better—Iwaizumi hadn't been very close to them, anyway. Had never found much need to interact with them outside of the court—that'd been Oikawa's job.

He didn't want to think about what had happened Hanamaki. Matsukawa had told him over the phone, before they'd even gotten a chance to meet face-to-face. He couldn't recall if he had cried that night or not.

Only a heavy numbness remained now, clinging to him like a spectre.

Tomorrow, they would all be heading down to Sendai. Together, as a team. For _him_.

Iwaizumi was going to bring flowers and milk bread.

"Oh." Satoshi paused in ripping up one of the apology letters. "That's tomorrow? Time sure flies... Umm... You wanna play Vario Cart?"

A smile played on his lips. He knew this was Satoshi's way of trying to comfort him for what was to come. "Only for an hour. We have to make breakfast for mom and dad."

Satoshi scrunched up his nose. "Right."

Iwaizumi poked him hard on the head. "Hey. You shouldn't hold it against them."

"I don't blame dad," Satoshi protested. "It's not like he wanted to get sick. But mom—you should've seen her. She... She acted like she didn't _want_ you to come back."

Iwaizumi was glad that his parents were at church, unable to listen to their conversation. "Would you?"

"What?"

"If your son got accused of murder. And everybody believed it was true. And he got thrown into prison. Your house gets vandalized and your car gets lit on fire." Iwaizumi still remembered the words his mother had said during her one and only visit. "Would you want him to come back?"

"Of course!" Satoshi snapped, vehement. "I'd—I'd believe him! Because I would know that I didn't raise a monster!"

"Nothing's ever one-hundred percent. There's always the smallest chance that—"

" _Don't_." Anguished, Satoshi pulled at his jacket sleeve. "You're _not_ a monster."

Iwaizumi softened. "Sorry. But still—I don't blame mom. She's not perfect, but... She's still my mom. And I miss her. I've missed all of you."

They entered Satoshi's room, his brother walking ahead of him. Satoshi didn't turn back, getting on his knees to turn on the TV and the console. It was pretty outdated, but Satoshi had never thrown it out and replaced it. As if he had hoped that—someday—Iwaizumi would return and they would be able to pick up where they'd left off.

"How?" Satoshi suddenly said, watching the television boot up. "How can you just... forgive them?"

"Because she's my mom," Iwaizumi repeated. "Ah, hell. Satoshi—I've spent six years in prison. The guys in there aren't exactly nice. Every night, I'd fall asleep dreaming of home." He sat down, picking up a console. Even after all these years, it felt familiar in his calloused hands—every groove and curve. "I'm here now. There's nothing I need to hold against anyone."

For a while, Satoshi was quiet. He set up the game without a word. Then, he said, "You're too good for this family, Hajime."

Iwaizumi huffed, lightly digging his foot into the small of his brother's back. "Enough of that. Let's play already."

And so they did. The hour flew past, and they found themselves in the kitchen next, preparing a simple breakfast of omelet rice for four.

"I have a date with Mina today," Satoshi shared as he scooped his own portion of rice and egg into a shallow plate. "I'm taking her out to the movies."

"What are you guys seeing?"

Satoshi rattled off the name of some horror film. Noticing Iwaizumi's surprise, he added, "She's a total horror addict. I know. She's weird. I thought girls were supposed to like romance movies."

Somehow, that stereotype had never made it to Iwaizumi's mind. He'd been surrounded by testosterone-filled guys for all his life—the one girl that he had frequently interacted with when he was Satoshi's age was Naoko. _Naoko_. She hadn't been much of a moviegoer at all, and it had been hard for Oikawa to gauge her tastes when he dated her.

Not to mention _Oikawa_ had been a sucker for rom-coms.

"With that thinking, I'm surprised you even managed to get a girlfriend," Iwaizumi said, banally truthful. "Did you ask her out or did she?"

Satoshi mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear."

"I asked her!" Satoshi yelled, rice spilling over the side of the plate. He made haste to clean it up. "Dammit, Hajime, don't make me say it again!"

Hajime roared with laughter as his brother's cheeks colored an adorable pink that reached his ears. "Look's like my kid brother has balls after all." He patted Satoshi on the head, irked at having to reach up to do it.

It was then the doorbell rang.

Satoshi put the platter of rice down on the dining table before both brothers went over to the entrance-way.

"Did they forget the key or something?" Satoshi wondered allowed, opening the door.

To their surprise, it wasn't just Yoichi and Futaba waiting on the other side. Accompanying their parents was one Makoshima Naoko, a sweater pulled over her shirt. Her hair was out of its usual ponytail, flowing down her shoulders like a sheet of ink.

Naoko smiled. "Hello, Hajime."

"Naccha— _Naoko_!" exclaimed Iwaizumi, blinking. "When did you...?"

"We met her on the way back from mass," Yoichi explained with a wide grin. Their church was a little strange—they held services on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. Or maybe it was normal and Iwaizumi just didn't know because he wasn't a Christian.

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced," Naoko said. "But I wanted to see you."

"Isn't it far?"

"It was, but it's fine—I took the rest of this week off."

Had Naoko been expecting to stay here with them? Iwaizumi scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, we didn't clean the guest room up—uh, we'll go do it right now—"

"Oh, no," Naoko held up a hand, "Don't worry about that, Hajime. I'll stay the night at a motel. I'm going back to Sendai tomorrow for the meeting, anyway."

"It's getting cold," Futaba remarked. "Why don't we all head inside? Naoko-chan, you can sleep in Hajime's room, and Hajime will sleep in Satoshi's room."

"I really shouldn't—"

"It'll be fine!" Yoichi claimed. "Right, boys?"

Iwaizumi nodded. "Of course."

"Yeah, I don't mind," added Satoshi.

A hesitant Naoko followed the family into the house. "Pardon the intrusion," she murmured as she toed her shoes off, placing them next to the shoe rack. She sniffed. "Is that... omelet rice?"

Satoshi let out a low whistle, impressed. "You've got a pretty sharp nose, Naoko-san."

"You should've seen her during high school," Iwaizumi commented, scooping rice into individual bowls for each family member, including Naoko. Yoichi grabbed an extra chair sitting in the corner and placed it at the table. "Always first to the cafeteria. Nobody wanted to get in her way during lunch. Or else they'd risk bodily harm."

"That was so long ago." Naoko sounded exasperated. "I was immature and selfish."

Iwaizumi nudged her, teasing. "Do you remember what they called you?"

"Ugh, don't even—"

" _Delinquent Lunchtime Princess_."

"Shut _up_ , Hajime."

Futaba looked as if she were uncomfortable accepting Naoko's history, but she kept her head low, clasping her hands together as she prayed before her meal. Once they were all seated, they waited for Yoichi and Futaba to stop praying before beginning to eat.

They made small talk during the meal. Satoshi mostly stayed out of it, secretly texting his girlfriend underneath the table. Futaba didn't participate much either, most of the conversation happening between Yoichi, Naoko, and Iwaizumi.

"All the way to Sendai?" Yoichi was shocked when he heard about Naoko's cake endeavours.

"Whenever I had time," Naoko affirmed. "There was no way I was gonna allow Hajime to subsist on beans and rice."

"We got miso soup sometimes," Iwaizumi said, sardonically.

Yoichi chuckled tiredly. "Thank you, Naoko-san. I'm glad he had someone there for him."

"It wasn't your fault," Iwaizumi automatically responded. "Those guards—"

"It was an unfortunate situation for everyone," Futaba interrupted. "Let's just leave it there, shall we?"

The rest of breakfast passed without much flair. After they'd finished eating, Futaba washed the dishes while Naoko, Iwaizumi, and Satoshi all headed upstairs to Iwaizumi's room. It was sparsely decorated. Iwaizumi's parents had thrown out most of his things before moving. Satoshi couldn't stay long—he had a date with Mina to prepare for.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said, bluntly, before slamming the door.

Naoko sat on the edge of Iwaizumi's bed while he searched through one of the boxes in his closet for something. "Your brother's cute," he heard her say from somewhere behind him, "I can't believe that's the same Satoshi as..."

"Right?" Iwaizumi didn't turn around, still digging through the cardboard box. "He'll be headed for university before long." He sighed, finally finding what he had been looking for. "I can't believe I missed out on everything with him."

Naoko hummed, thoughtful. "Well, you'll have plenty of years to catch up."

"Funny. He said almost the same thing earlier this morning." The bed sank underneath his weight. Naoko scooted further down the mattress, allowing Iwaizumi more space. "Here." He flopped a book down between them. It was filled with photos. There was the smallest smile on Iwaizumi's lips—one that Naoko mirrored. "Do you remember all this?"

"Hard not to. You guys were always a loud bunch." Naoko stroked the edge of the scrapbook with one finger. "I didn't realize you were the type to keep photos."

"It was from Tooru," Iwaizumi confessed. "He made me this book for my eighteenth. About half of it was filled when I got it. I filled the after half before..." He didn't need to say it. Flipping to the very end, they discovered that there was one page left—enough to fit four photos. "Huh. Guess I didn't finish it." _I thought I did._ He flipped through it again, stopping right around the beginning of their third year—it was only from here on out that Naoko appeared in their pictures.

There weren't many with her in it, but they were there nevertheless.

In a photo obviously from Oikawa, Naoko and Oikawa stood together in front of a movie theatre. _First date ;P_ , Oikawa had written across the bottom. It hadn't been _Oikawa's_ first date, but rather Naoko's. A few pages later, there was another one—only Naoko had been replaced with Iwaizumi. _First date_ , it read again, this time without the silly face. The backdrop was also different—not a cinema, but a whole mountain range. They'd gone hiking together that day. Had kissed under a cherry blossom tree with the view behind them.

Iwaizumi glanced at Naoko, realizing how this must have looked to her. But she didn't seem to mind, that little smile never leaving her face as she observed silently. Eventually, she said, "He really loved you."

"He loved you, too," Iwaizumi replied, and it was the truth.

Oikawa had loved them both, and they'd both loved him.

"Do you miss those days?"

"Yeah. I do." There was no shame in admitting it.

"Me too." Naoko turned the page. A group photo caught her attention, and her eyes widened. "Is this...?"

"Hm?" Iwaizumi peered at the picture in question—at the beaming smiles of Oikawa, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Sumire, Tadashi, Naoko, and himself. "Oh. This was for Tadashi's birthday." Only the outing had been a few days before the actual birthday due to scheduling issues. It'd been taken in early November—just days before Oikawa had died. Iwaizumi pushed that thought away. "How is he, by the way?"

"He's an oncologist now," Naoko told him. "He lives in Sendai with his boyfriend, Yoshino. We still talk almost every day, but we haven't met face-to-face in a while..." Both of them being in the medical field, it was hard to make time for each other.

"What about Sumire?"

"Finishing up her masters in Todai. She's a candidate for early graduation." Pride lit up in her eyes before fading. "She's mostly gone her own way. I... I can't remember the last time I talked to her." Naoko puffed a little laugh. "I couldn't be prouder of her, though. She's a good girl. She knows what she's doing. I trust her."

"Wish I could say the same thing about Satoshi," said Iwaizumi, and Naoko laughed again, louder and heartier this time.

After they went through the scrapbook, they enjoyed each other's company in silence, scrolling on their phones.

There was little news relevant to them.

 **RUSSIAN FIGURE SKATING STAR YURI PLISETSKY SAYS HE WOULD 'THROW A SKATE AT HIRAKAWA DAIZEN'S HEAD'** , was probably the most interesting headline he'd seen in a while, though.

Afternoon rolled around. Not wanting to be stuck inside for the rest of the day, Iwaizumi shut his phone off. "Wanna go for a walk?" Though he hadn't been living here for long, he knew most of the town like the back of his hand now.

"Sure. I could use the fresh air."

Pulling on his jacket, Iwaizumi led the way. After traversing Kosaka, there was not much that interested him now. But Naoko had only been here a few times, and he showed her around some of the popular tourist spots. For the majority of the time, they simply admired the architecture and the natural beauty.

Crossing a bridge with a beautiful view of Lake Towada, their biceps bumped occasionally.

"You know," Iwaizumi said, slowing to a halt. "I don't think I'm nervous about tomorrow anymore."

Naoko threw him an amused look. "The wonders of nature, right?"

"I went jogging this morning. It didn't have the same effect."

"Maybe you just needed to take it easy."

Iwaizumi nodded, slowly, as he considered the reason. "Maybe," he agreed. "Or maybe it's because you're here with me."

"Oh?" There was no outward reaction on her part, but Iwaizumi had known her for long enough to understand that she was taken aback. "Should I be flattered?"

He shrugged, unable to give her an answer. To him, Naoko was a constant presence in his life. Even in prison, she had always showed up at least once a week without fail. He trusted her more than anyone else in the world right now—trusted her to never abandon him or give up on him. In a way, she was like his security blanket. "Tomorrow," he said, skirting around the question. "We'll face him together."

"Sure. We'll face him together," Naoko vowed, staring out into the open waters. "All of us."

* * *

**July 20th, 2018**

It was Friday.

A sunny afternoon.

Kunimi and Kindaichi arrived in Sendai at approximately three o'clock in the former's car. Kunimi parked his car across the street from the memorial park. The first thing Kindaichi did was take a deep breath. The air was as sharp and crisp as he remembered it to be. A beeping noise sounded as Kunimi locked his vehicle, shoving the keys into his jeans pocket.

"Are the others here yet?" Kindaichi asked when Kunimi took out his phone to open the new Seijoh group chat.

"Watari, Kyoutani and Yahaba are on their way," Kunimi replied after a beat. "Matsukawa-san and Iwaizumi-san are five minutes away." There was a girl called Naoko who was coming along, too. Kunimi recognized the name, vaguely, as the doctor who had made Daizen fall on his face. He didn't know much of her relationship with Iwaizumi and Oikawa, though—had never really paid her any attention in high school. "And... Yuda-san's already here."

Kindaichi looked to the front gates of the memorial park, noticing Yuda waving to them. He waved back, even offering a ginger smile.

They crossed the road to meet him.

"Wow!" Yuda's eyes bugged out when they stood in front of him, freckles brown and prominent under the sun. "You guys looked way shorter from a distance! I can't believe my underclassmen are taller than me now..."

Kunimi smirked. "We weren't gonna stay the same height forever, you know."

"I know, I know. Just let an old man like me reminisce, why don't you?"

Kindaichi looked around. "Sawauchi and Shido didn't come with you...?"

"We lost touch after high school," Yuda informed him, if a little stiffly. "If they're coming, I don't know about it."

They weren't in the group chat, either. Kindaichi supposed that meant that they wouldn't be coming after all.

Group by group, they arrived.

The next to come after Kindaichi and Kunimi were Matsukawa, Iwaizumi, and Naoko. They exchanged murmured greetings, Naoko's stony face even softening slightly when she said hello to Kindaichi.

Matsukawa looked as if he hadn't slept in a while.

Nobody blamed him.

They'd all heard the news about Hanamaki.

Watari got here soon after, sporting a head full of hair. Many of them openly stared.

The last pair to reach the memorial park were Yahaba and Kyoutani. A woman with a side braid drove them, parking behind Kunimi's car. She made no move to exit the car; her mouth moved as she let Yahaba and Kyoutani off, probably wishing them good luck.

"Yahaba!" Kindaichi couldn't contain his excitement.

Gods, he was so _skinny_ now.

But he also stronger than before.

Yahaba met them with a great big hug, pulling in both Kindaichi and Kunimi at once. Iwaizumi got similar treatment—or would have had he not been clutching two delicate items. Yahaba settled for a side-hug instead.

Kyoutani nodded at them all, not bothering to say anything. There was nothing any of them could really say. The empty streets only drove home the fact that they were little more than ghosts in a ghost town.

At last, it was time.

As one—as a _team_ —they wandered into the park.

Oikawa's headstone was just as Kindaichi remembered it. But it felt a lot less lonely than before— _warmer_ than before. Maybe it was just the sun beating down the back of his neck, but he wanted to believe that it was something more.

In the middle of their group was Iwaizumi, holding flowers and milk bread to his chest. Nobody spoke a word as he knelt, laying the bouquet and the bag of bread in front of the plaque with shaking hands.

Somebody sniffled.

Kindaichi rubbed at his eyes, his knuckle coming back wet.

Iwaizumi sat on the grass, crossing his legs and slumping forward. "Hey," he greeted the gravestone, a barely perceptible tremor in his voice. "It's been a while... Tooru."

Matsukawa began to cry in silence, tears sliding down his stoic mien. He made no move to wipe them away, letting them pool at his chin and detach in fat droplets.

"Six years," Iwaizumi went on, reaching out to palm the tablet. It was icy on his skin and damp from last night's rain. Six years spent in concrete hell, alone and voiceless. There'd been little sympathy there, merely scathing looks and gruff words. He'd dreamed of this day for six years—of the goodbye he'd never been able to give before now. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Six damn years. Tooru, I—I _miss_ you."

A single leaf fell from an overhead tree, almost completely brown.

"I guess..." Iwaizumi's hand fell to the grass. "I'm home now. It's your birthday today, so you can eat as much milk bread as you like, and play as much volleyball as you want. I know that'll make you happy. And when my time comes, we'll do everything together again." A pause. "Makki's with you now, right?"

Matsukawa inhaled.

"You're not alone up there. But don't forget about the rest of us down here. Or we'll kick your ass."

There was a collective chuckle at that.

"So wait for us, alright?"

A gentle breeze swept through the clearing.

They stayed there for a while, each of them saying their own piece to Oikawa. By the time they were finished, it was already late afternoon. The golden sunlight was blinding. Grass crunched beneath their shoes as they dispersed—it was time to leave.

Only Iwaizumi stayed, Naoko hovering behind him for a few moments before deciding to give him some time alone.

"Think he'll be okay?" Kindaichi asked, worriedly, as he passed through the memorial park gates with Kunimi and Naoko.

"He'll be fine," Naoko assured him, her hair fluttering in the wind.

Kindaichi looked back one last time before rejoining the others at their vehicles.

Still, Iwaizumi remained at the gravestone. He read the epitaph, over and over again, until he would be able to recite it in his sleep. _I'll never forget you. Even when I'm old and gray and the world's a haze, I'll always remember you. You're the greatest partner I've ever had, and the greatest setter I've ever known._

Touching his forehead upon the monument, Iwaizumi closed his eyes, smiling.

"I love you, Tooru."

* * *

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I cannot believe this is over. I think I may cry. I'm not sure. But I feel a little bit overwhelmed posting this last chapter. There'll be an afterword along with some bonus material posted maybe later today or tomorrow or just soon in general, idk.
> 
> I've also made this [Cafe Pezzo Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sq6jNpoG1Es&feature=youtu.be&ab_channel=sakuatsubraindead). Even though I wanted to make a theme song for this whole fic, I found my musical juices lacking, so I whipped this up quickly, instead.
> 
> Again, thank you, everyone. Everyone—whether you kudosed, or commented, or bookmarked, or subscribed, or just read in silence. Thank you all. I wouldn't have been able to make it this far without you. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I'd love to hear what you all think of it.
> 
> For the last time: Thank you!!


	62. Afterword

Hello, everyone. I thought I might make a short afterword only available on AO3 and Quotev. Why? Because these two platforms are the only ones that aren’t terrible when it comes to supporting links.

Anyway.

I said some of this before, but I’ll say it again.

Thank you Blue for supporting this story since its very conception. You gave me the go-ahead to write this when I was stuck in writer’s block for another story which I have invested more than two years and 300k+ words in. It eventually died, but Shard Society lived, so I guess I’ll be content with that. And thanks for reaching out to Jelly in the comment sections. Lord knows that I was too shy to do it, even though I so badly wanted to. Can’t wait to meet you both in Japan in a few years.

Jelly, your comments swept me off my feet and I very much enjoyed taunting you with spoilers and clues in return. Your love for Kindaichi knows no bounds (as it SHOULD) and I’m honoured to have you being among the few readers that came for Kindaichi content. We seriously need more content of onion boy in this fandom. Also, thanks for radicalising me against Kindaichi slander. If I see any of that shit, I’m going to start writing names in my Death Note (yes, I do have one for diary-keeping and my pharmacy notes but it can easily be repurposed).

Dear Lena, you actually had me sweating a few times. I guess it’s time to admit right now that your comments affected the story more than I usually allow outside influences to. Your detective work was so meticulous that I thought I had inadvertently drawn in the L Lawliet of the fanfiction world. I didn’t always meet the expectations you had and it actually terrified me into changing a few things—for the better. In the original draft, the director was to be responsible for all the deaths—it was you who made me realize I was sitting on Daizen’s potential as a total douchebag. Thank you for the **[art](https://www.instagram.com/lenas_art_gallery/) **you drew.

Mxii! I hope school is treating you well. I still remember the **[edit](http://www.instagram.com/p/CECbal4g_4S/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) **you made of Shard Society. I saw it at around 3am while I was working on a criminology essay. You blew away all the sleepiness out of me. Your comments have always been a delight to read and your edits are splendid.

e-backup-a on Tumblr, I hope you’re also doing well. You’ve moved on to DreamSMP and I don’t know if you still follow this story, but I can never forget the **[fan art](https://e-backup-a.tumblr.com/tagged/shard-society)** you drew for this story. You are the first person in the history of ever to draw me fan art. Before you, I lived in a world void of fan art.

Lineal, I bow to you for transcribing Apart by ear and passing on the link to the sheet music. Although the music was a lesser part of the whole project in regards to the time I spent on it, it meant a lot to me that you actually liked it enough to provide an arrangement. If anyone wants to play it, it can be found **[here](https://musescore.com/user/37443307/scores/6599159/s/iL2MfU?share=copy_link)**.

And, of course, everyone else. Those who read the story and came along this journey with me. I may not know your names and your faces, but I have read your comments (no matter how long or short) and your bookmark tags and every single one of them was a delight to read.

Before I sign off this story for good, I have a few things I want to share. Consider it bonus material.

The first is this—a list of pretty much all important/relevant OCs that appear in Shard Society. There are a lot, and I tried my best in distinguishing all of them from one another so it wouldn’t get too confusing. If anyone is still bemused about the identities of these characters, please feel free to check the list out here: **[SS OC List](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1MkfbkAR-uGEmYm1FKSQ0YbKVJFA8vCRB/view)**.

The second is an outline of Shard Society. ALL of my notes I’ve written for this story are found here: **[Shard Society Outline](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1PswnSmorDdEsiqypIBqQTIoA9PexOrdb/view)**.

The last thing I want to share is a **[playlist](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL5PhZuEFTlAG7f3N1hWlJLas8_wSExjgV) **of every Shard Society-related song. I put the Clean Freak video in there, too.

That should be all.

I’ve already started working on the sequel (in my head) and I’ve got notes down on it, but I can’t predict when it’ll come out. There are other projects being planned, too, all of them much, much shorter than Shard Society.

See you next time!


End file.
